
/ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


f 

















7£e HEALING 

of the 

HAWAIIAN 



EVELYN WHITELL 









I 


I’S'S’b 


The Healing 

OF THE 

HAWAIIAN 

A Story of the Hawaiian Islands. 


BY 

EVELYN WH1TELL 

A 

Author of 

"The Woman Healer/' "Extraordinary Mary/' 

"The Christmas Guest/' etc. 

) 


Published by 

THE MASTER PRESS 

618 SOUTH SPRING STREET 

LOS ANGELES 







Copyrighted, 1923 
By EVELYN WHITELL 



©C1A753335 

\6 \923 


| 


Lovingly ‘Dedicated 
to 


£%Cy Dear Friends 
on the 


Hawaiian Islands 





INDEX 


Chapter Page 


I 

Aloha! 

9 

II 

Sailing Into the Island of Health. 

15 

III 

Lilinoe. 

21 

IV 

The Luau. 

31 

V 

The Psychic Ewaliko. 

41 

VI 

Memories of the Mountain Home. 

49 

VII 

The Kahuna. 

61 

VIII 

The Hawaiian Healer. 

69 

IX 

The Fisherman’s Story. 

77 

X 

The Great Love Poem. 

85 

XI 

The Wanaao. 

91 

XII 

Confessions. 

95 

XIII 

The Soul’s Awakening. 

107 

XIV 

The Journey to the Cave. 

119 

XV 

The Leper. 

125 

XVI 

Resurrection. 

137 

XVII 

Akana Tells of His Healing. 

141 

XVIII 

Into All the World. 

147 

XIX 

Until We Meet Again. 

153 



CHAPTER I. 


Aloha! 


rthur Seaton sat under the giant palm tree, 



gazing with tired interest on the surf-board 


^ ■“* riders at Waikiki. He felt like a lost soul amidst 
this brilliant scene of life and color. He watched the 
strong, young Hawaiians race with their canoes—dive 
from the highest points into the waves, or standing 
erect on their surf-boards, ride toward the shore, like 
ships swept homeward by a rapid wind. 

He was not strong enough to join in the sport, 
yet he hated to be considered a semi-invalid. He did 
not harmonize with men of his age. There was some¬ 
thing about him that was too powerful to be called 
“sissy,” but he had never been one with the boys, and 
no girl attempted to understand him. 

Arthur Seaton’s training had been against him. 
Both his parents, he was constantly reminded, had 
passed with lung trouble, and the same fatality had 
been held over him since birth. The maiden aunt who 
had adopted him with his fortune, had raised him on 
cod-liver oil and cough drops, kept him indoors over 
the winter and had his tutor in the home. 

Arthur loved books and study. He came of a race 
of ministers and teachers. He lived in the mental 
world, and as many mothers were fond of quoting to 
their negligent sons and daughters, he knew the Bible 
from cover to cover. He believed as his parents and 
grandparents had done, swallowed their idea of God, 
and though his religion gave him little comfort, clung 
to it with that deep sincerity which comes of a con¬ 
scientious ancestry. 


10 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


The sudden passing away of his maiden aunt, 
roused him from a dream of twenty-five years. It 
came with a shock, and an intense surprise, because 
“Aunt Amy” had been to him like a fixture. 

She had spoken many times of the other world, 
but never in connection with herself. It had been her 
consolation to him when his cough was unusually bad, 
that God did not let suffering go on forever, but had 
prepared a place of rest. 

He had seen himself in that “oasis,” a thousand 
times, but never placed Aunt Amy anywhere except 
amidst her church work, and with her knitting by the 
fireside. 

“What will that delicate nephew do, now poor 
Miss Seaton has gone?” was the question asked on 
every side. 

Arthur was wondering too. He had acted so lit¬ 
tle independently that the responsibility of being 
thrown upon his own resources was appalling. 

He talked it over with the lawyer, as they dis¬ 
cussed Miss Seaton’s affairs. 

The old man looked at him shrewdly and spoke as 
if by sudden inspiration. 

“Why not pack up and go to the Hawaiian Is¬ 
lands? Why should you hang around a climate of this 
kind? If I had an independent fortune, Hawaii is the 
place where I would end my days. No, I would begin 
them—we don’t go there to die—we go to live. Blue 
skies and sunshine—colors—fruits and flowers; a land 
where everyone gets well!” 

The words went through Arthur like an electric 
shock. 

“A land where everyone gets well—Gets well,” 
and he had never known what health was. 

He carried the thought to bed with him, and lay 
in the darkness holding it to his heart. 

He had only a vague idea of the Islands. He as¬ 
sociated them mostly with a race of heathen, whom 


Aloha! 


11 


his aunt had told him it had been her prayer, he would 
go forth to convert. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, overcome by the 
immensity of taking such a trip alone. Possibly, at that 
moment he touched in consciousness the shores of that 
other world. He did not know if he dreamed it. In 
the afterwards he recalled many times that quick flash 
out of the nothingness of darkness. The picture of a 
shore, beaten by shining waves. Skies of a brilliant 
blue, giant palms and blossoms of gold, through which 
the smiling face of a flower crowned woman looked, 
and waved her hands in welcome. 

“A land where everyone gets well,” he found him¬ 
self repeating. “I am going to try it as a last resource 

—and maybe, maybe-” He dared not voice the 

beautiful hope, but it registered in his subconscious 
mind. . . . 

sis sf: sfs sfc ^ 

The voyage is what he had built into it. A voyage 
of sickness, where he never looked on the water until 
the last day—when weak, miserable and desperately 
ill, he stepped on deck, realizing that he had put be¬ 
tween himself and home a barrier that he would never 
be able to cross. 

The cry that the points of Honolulu were in sight, 
brought him out of his cabin. He was glad in the 
great excitement of getting ashore that no one seemed 
to notice his condition, except the attentive stewards, 
who were almost wearying in their desire for his hap¬ 
piness. He tipped them heavily, and pleased to see 
them out of sight, steadied himself by the hand-rail, to 
look upon the scene. 

“The Matsonia” was gliding over the waters, 
golden with the morning sunrise, like a happy seagull 
sailing easily for home. Lights of rose and amber 
struck her sides like flags of victory to herald her ap¬ 
proach. Out of the shining blue of the sky, rain, deli¬ 
cate as dew, was falling, and away over “Diamond 



12 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


Head,” a rainbow sparkling like jewels wrote her 
cheerful “Aloha” in the brightest colors. 

Everyone was pressing to the vessel's edge. Hand¬ 
some American girls, and big-eyed, laughing Hawaii- 
ans. Tiny Japanese mothers holding up smiling, black¬ 
haired babies. Men, women and children straining 
their necks and eyes to see in the distant crowd upon 
the landing stage someone they loved awaiting them 
with leis. 

He found himself jostled into the midst of the 
happy throng. Their great vibration of joy and ex¬ 
pectant love, the warmth of their throbbing hearts, the 
kisses ready on their lips, their arms vibrating to em¬ 
brace their loved ones, threw out an energy on every 
side which warmed his starved body with a warmth 
no sunshine could have given. It brought a sudden 
strength and vitality which made him forget his weak¬ 
ness and straighten his bent frame. 

The boat was drifting nearer. Shouts of recogni¬ 
tion filled the air, mingling their joy with the burst of 
music which came with sudden and surprising sweet¬ 
ness from the great Hawaiian band. Music that sung 
out on its tender notes the welcome of the Islands. A 
welcome so full of love and beauty that it roused emo¬ 
tion almost to the joy of tears. 

He found himself singing with the happy people 
—he who had never sung, beyond the humming of a 
hymn. It seemed impossible to believe as he walked 
down the gangway and saw the leis around every 
neck, that there was not someone there to welcome him. 

The soulful rapture continued to stir within him, 
while the taxi went over the ground, through hedges 
made brilliant by pink and red hibiscus, where the 
golden shower trees, tossed their flaming colors against 
the shining blue of the sky. Under the tall shelter of 
majestic, white-trunked palms, to the modern hotel, so 
like the surroundings by which he had been associated, 
that the damp begun to settle once more on his soul, 


Aloha ! 


13 


especially when the clerk looked at his name and said: 
“Oh, yes, your lawyer wrote to us. You made your 
reservation just a month ago. It’s Mr. Seaton from 
Ohio, the invalid, is it not?” 

The invalid! In those moments of contagious 
joy, he had forgotten that he ever was one. Yes, of 
course he was an invalid. He felt it far more strongly 
when he went down to the beach at Waikiki. Men 
and women of all ages sporting with the shining tide 
—children like rain-drenched flowers, playing their 
games of catching with the waves—and he alone, a 
stranger on the beach, unable to take part in any of 
their fun. He longed as he had never longed for a 
strong body, to be able to do what other men could do. 

A land where everyone gets well! That was not 
so with him. He watched himself each day grow thin¬ 
ner. He began to shut off from the beach; he kept his 
room, and soon they knew in the hotel that the young 
man from the coast was very sick. 

The doctor analyzed his case. He was a wise man, 
although a doctor. He knew the power of suggestion; 
he knew the cause was in the mind. 

“If it is too hot for you in Honolulu, then I’ll tell 
you where to go,” he said. “There’s a spot loved by 
the Hawaiians, a spot where all the old natives dwell. 
At a certain part of the beach in that little nest of love, 
it is impossible to be sick. Few people go to ‘Hana,’ 
and so it is unspoiled. If you want a bit of natural 
history made up of health and natives, go to that spot 
on ‘Maui’—go there and you’ll get well. There’s no 
one to disturb you. The beach will be just like your 
own.” 

But Arthur shook his head. The thought of the 
waves and the stateroom in which he had spent six 
days of agony in crossing from the coast, brought the 
color of seasickness to his face. 

“I don’t think anything would help me,” he said, 
weakty. “My father tried all things—my mother, too 


14 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


—but they both passed with the same trouble/’ 

The doctor spoke strongly and emphatically. 
“Come, man,” he said, “you’re not your father, nor 
your mother, so you need not blame them for your 
present condition. We are too fond of blaming our 
weak spots upon another. Because my great-grand¬ 
father died in the workhouse is the very reason why I 
am not going to die there. We learn by the mistakes 
of others, but if we are going to copy their mistakes, 
we would make a funny muddle of our lives. You go 
to Hana, and if you don’t get better when three weeks 
have passed, I’ll give up my profession.” 

“Unfortunately that wouldn’t help me,” said Ar¬ 
thur. “If I could reach this place by land I would go 
willingly. But water-” 

“Yes, of course you fear the water. I guess they 
wrapped you up too much in a blanket, instead of 
throwing you up in one. The trouble with you is, you 
think of nothing but your precious body.” 

f “Oh, no!” cried Arthur, in a voice of an ancestry 
of ministers. “I think about my soul.” 

“Then think about your soul, and get away from 
your body,” answered the doctor, as he went from 
the room. 

The words struck home. The doctor was right 
He must think of his soul. He had not dwelt on that 
lately, and how did he know but what his soul might 
soon be required of him. 

He would go to the next Island and give that little 
place a chance. In solitude he would have time for 
prayer and reading his Bible, so that if the end should 
come, it might be peaceful as his ancestors had been. 

Deep in his heart he wanted to live, but he wanted 
to live and be well. He was tired of dragging around 
a weak and ailing body. He wanted to be strong as 
the men who rode the surf-boards. It might come— 
but now he must think of his soul. 



CHAPTER II. 


Sailing Into the Island of Health 

H e did not feel the roughness of the passage to 
Maui. He was lying alone in his room. The 
waves hit hard on the vessel, and more than 
once thundered the deck. He was surprised when the 
steward brought him his supper to hear that some of 
the people were sick. He was conscious of a certain 
victory gained, when he stepped out on deck and looked 
at the heaving water. The joy one feels of having do¬ 
minion. 

The wind blew strong and cold; they were passing 
the twinkling lights of an island. “That’s Molokai,” 
said one of the men who sat beside him. “If you’re 
a stranger you may not know the points of interest. 
There’s where the lepers are, poor souls,” and he shud¬ 
dered at the thought. ‘1 

Arthur listened attentively. Leprosy had not the 
horror for him that it has for those who have come 
face to face with the dreaded disease. 

“I visited the island once,” the stranger continued, 
“There’s a beautiful case of love and devotion there 
which was to me the brightest spot in its history. It 
was the case of a man with very small symptoms of 
the disease. He was cured by the oil treatments they 
are giving, but before he was cured he had fallen in 
love with one of the women. Strange for a man to 
fall in love with a leper—but such was the case.” 

“Sympathy,” suggested Arthur, with his eyes still 
fixed on the lights of the Island, now fading away like 
stars in the mist. 


16 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“Sympathy? No. One looks for that in a woman, 
but it is a mighty rare jewel to find in a man. It was 
a case of real love, but not at first sight. He was one 
of the most prosperous men of his day, the pet of so¬ 
ciety, a man of the world. He was just on the verge 
of marrying a beautiful woman, but suddenly where 
fortune's wheel had worked in his favor, she swung in 
the other direction, and all was gone in a night. Then 
his so-called friends began to walk on the other side 
of the street. The girl he was to have married, told 
him in a few violet-scented words that it would now 
be impossible for her to consider it; and on the top of 
all this he was found to have symptoms of the disease. 
He was brought to the Islands and it was there he met 
this lonely, sad-hearted woman. Her experience had 
been something like his own, but she seemed to forget 
it in cheering him. She was not a clever woman, and 
I do not suppose she was very good looking, but she 
gave him a love such as he had never known, and of 
course she grew slowly into his heart." 

Arthur smiled somewhat sadly. “It's very ro¬ 
mantic," he said, “but you say it is true." 

“Romance only comes through the eyes of ro¬ 
mance," responded the man. “It’s strange, too, what 
tricks fortune can play us. I never worry over her 
games any more than I worry when the sun goes back 
of a cloud, for I know that the moment she has dashed 
our ship on the rocks, she is just as likely to bring 
one in full sail round the corner, a far better ship then 
the one we have lost. It was just such a game she 
played with this man. After taking all out of his 
hands, she flung back her golden ball in his lap. All 
things came raining down in a moment. He was cured, 
as I say, by the oil treatment, and freedom’s gate 
opened before him: and just on that very morning 
with the sudden rush in of good planets, he heard he 
had fallen sole heir to his uncle’s estate. He was the 
owner of millions. No one rejoiced more than his lit- 


Sailing Into the Island of Health 


17 


tie companion. She told him she had prayed all the 
time for his freedom. Women tell us they pray for 
some strange things, and it's hard for us selfish men 
to believe it, but I do honestly think that good, little 
woman wished him the best, even if it meant sorrow 
for her. 

“Of course, after the news of his riches were cir¬ 
culated, letters of congratulation came on all sides; 
letters from those who had long since forgotten him. 
The girl he was to have married, wrote to own her mis¬ 
take, and confess that her love had gone to no other. 
Do you think he went back to them? He made the 
woman who was a leper believe he was going, just to 
test her love to the limit, but she stood it out to the 
end. Without a tear, but a mighty big lump in her 
throat, she bid him good-bye. She would not go down 
to the boat and she didn’t need to, because he never 
intended to go. He waited until night time, and then 
slipped around to her cottage. She was kneeling at 
prayer. She was praying for him. Not for him to 
come back, but that he might find his own, and be 
happy.” 

The man stopped a moment. Arthur was some¬ 
what surprised to see he was wiping his eyes. The 
world is more quick to sympathize than we believe. 

“And then?” he asked slowly. 

“Why, then they married,” he continued, growing 
suddenly practical. “Married, and lived on the Island. 
Do you think he would leave a woman like that? No, 
he had found love at last, and he would rather live with 
love in a leper settlement than in a world of society 
without it.” 

“That was a very unusual case,” Arthur said. 

“Yes, pretty unusual, because people are seeking 
for fortunes in our days and not seeking love.” 

Arthur smiled wearily. “I cannot give an opinion 
on that,” he replied, “I never sought either.” 


18 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“That’s maybe your trouble,” the stranger sug¬ 
gested. “Don’t call it a virtue not to have loved, for 
unless we have love in our lives we had better be dead 
—or we are dead, would be truer, for nothing can live 
without love. It would pine away like an unwanted 
plant in the celler. Love, man, even if it breaks your 
heart. Love even if your ideals are smashed in the 
loving; love, and if your life is only transformed by 
that love but a moment, you will have touched the 
robes of a glory such as not all the cold dollars of the 
world could buy.” 

“I was never very interested in women,” Arthur 
coolly responded. 

The man laughed heartily. “Oh! love does not 
necessarily mean a woman,” he answered, “though 
that’s the love we generally crave. But love something, 
and however small may be the object of your love, it 
will light a spark in your world which will save you 
from utter desolation.” 

“I love my God,” said Arthur, with an effort. 

His companion grew suddenly silent. He had 
lifted his eyes to the blackness of the sky, made bril¬ 
liant by millions of glittering stars. Then he looked 
down to the man by his side and fixed his gaze earnestly 
on him. The light from the window of one of the 
staterooms, fell over his face, white, miserable and 
drawn by years of sickness. Was he the expression 
in body or in mind of one who loved even the smallest 
things in nature, the tiniest microbe, of the Great 
Cause of All? Where was the vibrant atmosphere, 
the radiant life, the luminance and power? Without 
connecting with its object, love would be an impossi¬ 
bility. If this man truly loved his God he must have 
made divine connection, yet what had that connection 
brought him? 

“I am not what the world would call religious,” 
he said slowly. “I know creation has a cause and that 
cause manifests in everything. I can see it as much in 


Sailing Into the Island of Health 


19 


those big, dashing waves, as I can in that crescent 
moon, but I haven't got the understanding of that 
Cause, and to love a thing we have to understand it. 
If you have got that understanding strong enough to 
love it, then you're a lucky man, for love connected 
with the cause of all, should bring you all things.” 

A lucky man! Trying to hold thoughts of salva¬ 
tion for his soul, he sat out shivering on the deck. 
Where was his luck? he questioned. 

A troop of happy, laughing girls and boys, glory¬ 
ing in wind and waves and starlit skies, came rushing 
past him. 

“Their seasickness didn’t bother them much,” he 
said, as he watched them race the deck. “You can't 
keep life and health like that tied down.” 

“It must be wonderful to have such energy,” said 
Arthur. “I never had it even as a boy.” 

“Yet you are connected with the Cause that built 
the worlds,” his new friend quietly responded. “You 
say you love that Cause—surely your love must gain 
response in the eternal energy of Love.” 

A faint flush crept to Arthur’s cheeks. “You don't 
believe the way I do,” he said, “and I don't often talk 
on religion.” 

“Nor I,” replied the man. “I don't, because I don’t 
know much about it. I have no use for Churches— 
never had—but I have my own ideas of things, and I 
guess I have the license to express them. I said I 
knew there was a Cause for this creation, the Cause 
that you call God, but which of us have found Him? 
We get glimpses of His glory on a night like this. We 
have moments of it on the mountain heights, moments 
of great emotional rapture, which make the world look 
very cold when we step out of them—but if the Force 
of all of our love were concentrated on His power— 
love being the greatest magnet that there is, we should 
become like gods ourselves. How could man fail con¬ 
nected with that mighty dynamo ? How could he draw 


20 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


into his life the sorrows of the world, since sorrow has 
no part in that divine connection? How could he be 
weak and sick when the architecture has no flaw? 
How could he die since eternal Energy is deathless? 
His life would become like a strong river, drawing al¬ 
ways from a never ending source.” 

He walked away as he spoke, and Arthur was glad 
to see him go. Somehow this conversation made him 
nervous. He leaned back in his deck-chair, watching 
the dancing lights upon the water, and longing that 
the trip might end. 


CHAPTER III. 


Lilinoe 

W hen Arthur had been three days in Hana he 
found himself gradually gaining strength. He 
had taken a little cottage in sight of the water 
and employed a Chinaman for cook and housekeeper. 

Yee Kui was a man past middle life, given to suck¬ 
ing a pipe rather than smoking, and thinking more 
than he expressed. It was this last virtue which 
pleased Arthur, who was worn out by the constant 
babel of tongues which clashed over nothing in the 
lobby of the hotel. 

Yee Kui was kind and thoughtful for his master, 
ministering to his smallest needs, but asking no ques¬ 
tion, understanding his wants, more by instinct than 
by words. 

He began to enjoy his life of freedom, spending 
his time out of doors and finding his meals ready at 
whatever hour he returned. Sometimes he questioned 
how the silent footed little Chinaman could provide 
such unexpected delicacies which had the relish he had 
always craved. It amused him that he should really 
feel hungry, and yet Yee Kui never provided too much 
nor too little, but smiled at the empty plates, with a 
smile so quaint and kindly that it made one forget that 
his mouth was toothless. 

The lights went out early all over the Island, but 
Yee Kui always had candles provided. As he placed 
Them by the bedside, he would make his friendly bow 
with the word spoken slowly, “You will sleep well.” 

Arthur was glad he said it without the hope. He 
liked the strength of the affirmation, “you will sleep 
well.” 


22 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


And he did sleep. He slept better than he had 
ever done in his life. He had never really slept with 
comfort. As a child he was disturbed by nervous fears, 
nightmares and dreams, and had more than once 
walked in his sleep. He remembered how his aunt, 
fearing that he might walk out of doors on some of 
these somnambulistic rambles, had had him tied in bed. 
How he had screamed in vain for his release and finally 
broken one of his teeth in trying to bite through the 
rope. But he was suddenly knowing what it was to 
sleep, and sleep easily. 

On the third morning he did not awaken until 
nearly daybreak. The bright light of the stars was 
softening with the coming dawn. He did not know 
that he had even seen a sunrise. A feeling of interest 
awoke in his heart, an interest which gave him a sud¬ 
den grip of life. He would go out and watch for the 
sun to rise; how surprised Yee Kui would be if he got 
up ahead of him, and was out of doors before he had 
time to prepare his breakfast. A touch of fun al¬ 
most akin to a school boy’s made him enjoy the an¬ 
ticipation of the picture. It cost him a little effort 
to dress without assistance, but he forgot everything 
in his eagerness to steal this march on Yee Kui. 

But those who got ahead of the Chinaman would 
have to stay up all night. Yee Kui’s little watchman, 
of whom nobody knew but himself, because he lived in 
the finest crevice of his ear, was there at all hours 
with his bell, and had given him the morning call be¬ 
fore Arthur was out of bed. The tray with the hot 
coffee and toast met him at the door, and asking no 
question, Yee Kui placed it on the table and shuffled 
away, a smile on his face broadening at his master’s 
amazement. 

“Upon my word, Yee Kui, if you aren’t the limit,” 
said Arthur. ‘T was going to have the surprise on 
you, but you got it on me.” 


Lilinoe 


23 


He drank the coffee and went on his way rejoicing 
in the freedom of not being asked where nor why, or 
even the hour when he would return. 

Nature came forward to meet him in all the gran¬ 
deur of her morning glory. The air was damp with 
the heavy moisture of the night and the salty spray 
of the sea. A soft primrose light, deepening into gold 
around the throne of the rising sun, reflected on the 
glittering sand. A sea bird shining white against the 
green of Pali-Ulis heights dropped suddenly down¬ 
wards and joined her companions in their morning sail 
across the glittering waves. 

Arthur walked slowly under the cocoanut trees 
and down to where the pink flowered vine trailed over 
the stones to meet the sea. 

A dark-skinned, smiling native with a lei of red 
hibiscus twisted about his straw hat called out a 
cheerful “Aloha” as he pulled his bright canoe from 
among the others and pushing it into the billows, pad- 
died aw r ay from the shore. 

Arthur liked this spirit of greeting, though he 
had yet to learn the beautiful meaning of the beautiful 
word. He felt glad to be treated like a rational being 
and not always looked upon as an invalid. 

The beach was very still and restful; the calm, 
clear air, so full of scents carried from hidden shrubs 
and mountain flowers, scarcely disturbed the gentle 
movement of the waves. A peace like he had never 
known stole over him. It seemed as though a cool and 
sympathetic hand had suddenly been laid upon his 
heart; as if a calm and gentle voice demanded every 
nerve to be at rest. He relaxed in its security like a 
child long frightened by shadows would relax in the 
protection of its mother’s arms. 

He did not want to break this beautiful charm; he 
stayed out all the morning, basking in it, feeling happy 
in the knowledge that Yee Kui would not seek for him, 
nor even question if he did not return at any stated 


24 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


hour. It was very convenient to live with someone who 
did riot follow him with an anxious mind, nor wonder 
where he was. Better, far better, than a hundred tele¬ 
phones was the magic understanding of this silent lit¬ 
tle Chinaman. 

He ventured to stay the afternoon as well; he did 
not feel hungry, and he knew his lack of hunger did 
not come from illness. He was getting a royal feast 
in the glory of the beautiful scene on which he looked. 

No one to bother him. The strong fishermen 
threw in their nets, but their energy did not tire him 
like the energy of the bathers at Waikiki. 

Night was approaching. Where the great queen 
of day had sunk to rest, the stars were scattered like 
jewels fallen from her crown of gold. Over her crim¬ 
son path of light the heavy blinds of darkness were 
being drawn. 

Arthur was surprised to find he was almost 
drowsy; drowsy without using all the sense-numbing, 
suggestion-brewed remedies of the drug store and the 
doctor. He rolled his steamer rug into a ball, rested 
his head upon it, and gave way to this new sensation 
of sleep without drugs and thumping a pillow. 

How long he slept he did not know, but he was 
jerked suddenly into consciousness by the sound of a 
rock or stone rolling from heights above and falling 
at a little distance. He strained his eyes in the dark¬ 
ness with difficulty recalling his whereabouts. By the 
light of a thousand stars he could dimly discern the 
giant outline of the cliff behind him. In front the 
waves of an invisible tide came washing inwards. He 
drew like a frightened child into the shelter of the pro¬ 
tecting heights, as he felt the salt spray splash upon 
his face and hair. Stiff and cold, with aching limbs, 
he tried to find his way along the sand. He had con¬ 
gratulated himself on freedom; that no one interfered 
with his movements; but how much he longed now for 
a human voice, for some one’s guiding hand. He was 


Lilinoe 


25 


almost angry with Yee Kui for leaving him in such a 
plight. Each step he took seemed to bring him into 
denser darkness. He had no idea of his whereabouts 
except he knew he was close to the sea, sandwiched be¬ 
tween the mighty waves and the giant cliffs. 

All in a moment he stood still. The same sound 
which had awakened him came again. His surround¬ 
ings were forgotten; fear took another note as he 
looked upwards. Far on the perilous heights above, 
where it seemed impossible for any human foot to 
reach, a light was moving like a falling star. His heart 
began to beat with suffocation. Every nerve of his body 
stood on end, yet fascinated, he watched the strange de¬ 
scending gleam, appearing, dying into darkness, then 
flashing forth again upon a lower point. Ghosts were 
not real to him. He had not, fortunately, been fright¬ 
ened like most children by ugly, untrue stories, but there 
was something horribly uncanny in that far off travel¬ 
ing light, especially when he realized that it was not un¬ 
accompanied, for he was positive in the black darkness 
he could trace the outline of a form. No human being 
could possibly scale such heights, he was certain. Yet 
the closer he fixed his eyes upon the cliff, the more sure 
he became that it was a human form. Watching it 
made him gain more courage; reason came to the fore¬ 
ground ; the trance condition in which his sudden 
awakening had left him began to pass away. His brain 
grew clearer as he found his foothold on the earth. 
He was about to call when suddenly the light flashed 
close beside him. He heard the rustle of a garment. 
Someone had touched the ground as lightly as a bird, 
and almost as if on wings was gliding out of sight. 

Now that he knew for certain that it was a human 
being he called out desperately and tried to follow in 
her tracks. She heard his voice and turned and flashed 
her light upon him. In its rays he saw a pair of large 
and startled eyes, the true type of Hawaiian face, un- 


26 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


usually beautiful in the tenderness of its expression. 
Hair crowned with flowers, and lips soft, sweet and 
lovable. 

Arthur could not tell why in that swift glance 
there should come to him something so familiar. 
Where had he seen that face before? It looked at him 
out of the mists of memory. 

One seemed as embarrassed as the other, blit Ar¬ 
thur was the first to speak. 

“Why are you out so late?” he asked, and then 
felt the absurdity of the question, for he did not even 
know the hour. Darkness fell early on the Island, and 
anyway, what were this girl’s affairs to him? 

She laughed—the true, care-free Hawaiian laugh. 

“Why, what about yourself?” she asked. “Aren’t 
you out late as well?” 

“I know, but I am a man,” he answered, lamely. 

“And I am a woman,” she replied. “I guess I’ve 
got as good a reason to be out as you.” 

“But those rocks I saw you coming down. If you 
had slipped you would have been dashed to pieces.” 

“And if you had fallen asleep and the waves come 
high enough to get you, it would have been all pau,” 
she answered as she linked her arm in his with the 
great friendliness of the Hawaiian. 

She was carrying something in her hand besides 
the flashlight. He was conscious by the sweet, delicious 
scent, that it was flowers. Surely there was a flora 
grand enough down here without her climbing those 
great heights. She did not give him time to question. 

“You’re from the coast,” she said, with that rapid¬ 
ity which drifts the mind into another channel. “I 
never went there and I never want to go. This is my 
land. I love it, don’t you ?” 

He answered, “Yes,” not because of courtesy, but 
because he was growing more and more to realize that 
he did. 


Lilinoe 


27 


‘They say they have lovely things where you come 
from, but they can’t have grander things than we have 
here. People who come to us somehow do not look 
happy, but when they stay awhile they never want to 
go away. They say it is like a fairy tale. Our colors, 
flowers and rainbows. You will not want to leave 
when the time has come.” 

Would not he? It made him think. He was not 
looking to the future, but the question for the moment 
rose before him as he walked with her along the sand. 
Would it be possible that life to him might, after all, 
wear those bright robes she spoke of, and that the 
beauty of this land might sink so deeply into his whole 
being that it would hold him by its golden cord for¬ 
ever ? 

“Do you read fairy tales?” she asked. 

“I cannot say I do,” he answered. “I never read 
them even as a child. Real things of life appeal to me.” 

Her laugh broke out with merry sweetness. “If 
you had known our brownies and our menahunes, you 
wouldn’t have been left out on the beach,” she said. 
“They would have built a path right to your door and 
led you through it.” 

It did not interest him to hear these foolish super¬ 
stitions of the Islands, yet he indulged her fancy for 
a moment. 

“I suppose they built the path for you down from 
those heights you were descending?” he replied. 

“Heights do not bother me,” she answered, “since 
I was born upon their summit.” 

They stopped that moment at the cottage. He had 
only been a few yards away, yet what a barrier the 
darkness formed. 

“I never asked your name,” she said. “Mine’s 
Lilinoe; what’s yours?” 

He answered it was Mr. Seaton. 


28 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“But what’s your given name?” she asked. “We 
don’t have any Misters here. If we call people Mister 
we don’t like them. I’d rather call you by your given 
name.” 

He drew in at the frank suggestion. How little 
he had heard that given name. Having no relatives to 
speak of, he was the only Mr. Seaton of his family. 
The servants in the home had called him “Master Sea¬ 
ton” in his childhood, changing the Master to Mister 
when he reached his teens. His tutor always honored 
him by “Mr. Seaton.” His aunt spoke of him to every¬ 
one as “Mr. Seaton,” and so rarely used his given name 
in front of others that it would sound foreign on an¬ 
other tongue. 

She bent towards him suddenly and fastened some¬ 
thing on his coat. The scent of it was rich and beau¬ 
tiful. Long years afterwards when in the heavy traffic 
of his strenuous life of service, through the golden 
doors of memory that scent would come wafting to¬ 
wards him, bearing him out for the moment to sun- 
kissed shores, and bringing him back rested and re¬ 
freshed and stronger for the work he had to do. 

The clock was striking twelve. He almost gasped. 
He had never been out so late. Where was the world 
in which he lived? It seemed to have vanished like the 
girl into the oblivion of the night. 

He was startled by a voice beside him. It wa3 
Yee Kui with his evening meal. He might have been 
acting the scene of the morning over again with an¬ 
other addition to the tray. . . . 

H* 

That night Arthur was wakeful but not with the 
restlessness of sickness. He had put the flower in 
water by his bedside. He had never had flowers in 
his room before. The doctor forbade them, and his 
aunt had not cared for the trouble they caused by the 
continual dropping of leaves on the tablecloth. 


Lilinoe 


29 


This flower to him looked unusual; but did not 
most of the flowers of the Island look so ? They seemed 
to have absorbed the colors of the rainbow, the sunsets 
and the wonderful dawns. 

He fell asleep looking on the brilliant red petals 
shining like lifeblood beneath the light of the flicker¬ 
ing candle. 





















CHAPTER IV. 


The Luau 

T he Fishermen had become interested in the man 
who sat on the beach. They looked on him at 
first much in the same way as the old natives 
must have looked on Captain Cook when he landed on 
the Island. 

So few things happened in that little out-of-the- 
way Eden. The boats came in once a week and left 
next morning. The few passengers who arrived, sel¬ 
dom stayed longer than a day. The beauty of the 
scenery could not make up to the commercial man for 
lack of accommodation, for lights going out early, for 
rough, uneven roads, and for the little interest taken 
in the salesman's goods. 

To have an outsider remain, was a treat, even 
though he sat all the time with rugs and shawls on 
the sand and seemed to do nothing but read. 

Tom Wahihako and his friend Iao Hapai, two of 
the strongest men of the Island, were the first to make 
his acquaintance. They took him out in their canoes 
and tried to persuade him to go into the waves on a 
surf-board. 

Arthur had great admiration for the strength of 
these immense fishermen, who drew in their nets with 
arms like iron—dived from the highest points—beat 
the roughest seas, and could eat a raw fish from mouth 
to tail in a way that would make the average man shud¬ 
der. 

They lived in a little hut by the water side—lived 
on poi and fish and sea moss. They knew every legend 


32 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


of the Island, every old story handed down from age 
to age. Their good nature, their willingness to serve, 
made them universal favorites. They had always the 
strong arm for their brother, and it was the lack of 
physical strength in the man from the coast that called 
forth their desire to help him. They never suggested 
he was sick—never talked to him of sickness—never 
presumed that he was in any way different from the 
rest of them. Arthur liked this—it lifted him from a 
world of which he was tired; unconsciously too, he 
was contacting the strength of these young fishermen 
as he watched them each day go into the waves with 
their nets. He was absorbing the great overflow of 
vitality thrown off in magnetic currents from their 
strong and powerful bodies. 

It was Tom and Iao who induced him to go to 
the “luau” when he had been two weeks on the Island. 

‘‘We have a good time and we’re all of us happy,” 
said Tom by way of persuasion. “It’s the feast that 
our fathers and mothers enjoyed before the white man 
set foot on the Island. Be one with us and we won’t 
feel you’re a bird from another country.” 

Arthur hesitated before he accepted. He knew so 
little of the people, and his cage was to him more in¬ 
viting than company. Tom’s good natured face was 
beaming with hope. He was not going to take a re¬ 
fusal. Possibly it was the force of his mind, or some 
unseen influence many call “fate,” which made Arthur 
suddenly decide he would go. 

The scene of the “luau” was weirdly fantastic. 
The immense banyan tree, like a huge octupus or some 
great hydra-headed monster, round the outspread 
limbs of which the vines twisted and swung like snakes 
—was lighted at each end by the yellow flames of 
torches held aloft in the hands of smiling native boys. 

The reflection of the full moon danced on the in¬ 
washing tide, leaving the silvery track of her foot¬ 
marks on the dashing waves. It showed up the care- 


The Luau 


33 


free faces of the Hawaiians, with the leis about their 
necks and the flowers in their hair. 

A soft, warm wind swayed the branches of the 
massive palms, carrying the blue smoke from the oven 
underground where the pig and meat had been cook¬ 
ing in ti-leaves. 

The feast was laid upon the sand. Fish fern and 
guinea grass and flowers formed the tablecloth. Huge 
bowls of poi, potatoes baked, and savory smelling fish, 
sea moss, cocoanuts and fruit fresh from the tree, was 
the repast. 

With appetites tuned up by the sea-air and hours 
of waiting, the natives fell to work, unconscious and 
uncaring of every thing around them. 

Arthur took his seat on the sand, feeling as if he 
were in another world. 

Everyone in the little port had turned out to the 
great event. He found himself wedged in between two 
happy, laughing women, each feeding contented look¬ 
ing babies, the miniatures of themselves. Well, he 
must join in their festivity. In Rome be tactful with 
its customs—and he did not want, as Tom had said, to 
make them feel he was a bird from foreign lands. 

He tried to dip his finger in the poi and twist it 
round as gracefully as they did. Half of it dropped 
on his lap and everybody laughed that care-free laugh, 
for nothing mattered at a luau. The children might 
adorn their fingers with the rings of pineapple or make 
a trumpet out of the salt cellar—what was the odds? 
The joy was in being free. 

Tom Wahihako probed his cocoanut, shook the 
milk into his glass, and rose to his feet and drank. 

“To the glory of the Islands!” he said. “What 
beverage could be grander or more refreshing than 
the milk our fathers climbed the trees to drink? Or 
what more pure and wholesome than the clear, cold 
waters of the running stream? Modern inventions 
there may be. The men come here from other towns 


34 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


to tell of those who gained a fortune by inventing 
sauces to make food swallow with a relish. We do not 
need that relish; we find it in the pure air of the Is¬ 
land. The outdoor life asks for no sauce for hunger. 
The grandest cooking apparatus of the day, the most 
modern oven man invented, would have no show with 
ours built in the sun-warmed earth. 

“No tasty morsel placed upon a plate of gold 
could equal food cooked underneath the ground, tied 
up in ti-leaves, and served with wet sea moss, gathered 
from the rocks. 

“The gods have given us an Island filled with flow¬ 
ers and fruit and sunshine. They have given us the 
freedom of our fathers. What made our fathers free? 
The freedom of their souls. As children of the sun 
they knew no age—they drew their life from that great 
shining god, and like well nourished trees, they did 
not count their falling leaves—they knew as quickly 
as they dropped away, others as beautiful would take 
their place. They never asked when they were born, 
they never thought when they would die. The sun 
arose and went to rest, and then arose again—but al¬ 
ways shone. They were the children of the sun, they 
owned their sonship. They lived because they wished 
for nothing else—only to live and love. Surfing and 
sunshine, fruit and flowers, sleeping beneath the starry 
skies, on sun warmed grass, or golden sands. 

“So did our fathers live—and what of us? Some 
of us still live so, but some were drawn to other lands 
more beautiful, they thought, than ours. This land is 
good enough for me. Some went to seek for gold. 
They found it, but it built for them a golden cage. 
Some died for fame, some died for wealth. I do not 
ask the gods for wealth or fame, I ask for life and 
love. 

“In other lands they worry for the things they 
want. Why should we worry? We have all we need. 


The Luau 


35 


“In other lands they’re sick. Our fathers knew 
no sickness. They rose each morning with the dawn; 
they washed their faces in the dew. I want to live just 
like my fathers lived. I never seek a grander Heaven 
than the one that I have found down here.” 

Arthur was shocked by this last statement, yet 
was not the philosophy of Jesus, “Heaven’s kingdom is 
within you?” 

“So let’s be happy,” Tom continued as he took his 
seat amidst the clapping and the cheers. 

The delights of eating were nearly over now. One 
after another the people, with satisfied sighs, often 
bordering on groans, leaned back upon the sand, and 
some struck up the music of the ukulele. As if in re¬ 
sponse to this, out from the great branches of the ban¬ 
yan tree, a woman dropped to the ground as lightly 
as a bird. She wore the grass skirt of the hula, with 
leis of flowers round her neck and shining in her hair. 

It was not the dance of the Islands she gave, but 
a dance of inspiration, wildly beautiful. 

Fascinated, Arthur watched her like one might 
watch a gorgeous bird. Tiptoeing to the water’s edge, 
coquetting with the waves, catching the rays of the 
moonlight, as she flitted between it and the shadows, 
she looked more like a spirit of the sea and air than 
a native of the Island. 

Who was she, this wonderful creature that he 
seemed to know so well ? Her dance stopped suddenly. 
She raised her arms to the light of a golden moon, and 
her voice rang out rich and adoring upon the silent 
night: 

Aloha oe. Aloha oe. 

Eke onaona no ika liko. 

A fond embrace. Ahoi ae au, 

Until we meet again. 

No one noticed that Arthur had withdrawn into 
the shade of the cocoanut tree. He had recognized her 


36 The Healing of The Hawaiian 

as the girl he had seen on the mountain heights, the 
girl whose blood-red flower still lived amoner so many 
more upon his table. 

“Again, Lilinoe, again/’ they shouted as she swung 
up into the banyan tree and vanished among the 
branches. She did not return and Arthur was glad 
of it. 

“Too bad,” said Iao Hapai. “No girl can dance 
like Lilinoe—light as the sea foam, and as pretty, but 
she will never dance for long. She’s just a rainbow 
in the sky; while we are talking of the colors, it has 
gone. Tune up, let’s have a hula.” 

He stopped and all listened earnestly, for as if 
in answer to the call of the song, there came the sound 
of music in the distance, sweet as an angel’s touch on 
harp strings. Music such as Arthur had never heard. 
It rose and fell, whispering softly, rising again like the 
call of a soul in pain, then dancing away in a race of 
notes rapid and sparkling as a rippling laugh. 

“It’s Ewaliko’s music,” said Tom. “He must have 
come down from the mountain.” 

The boy came strolling towards them, a strange 
figure weirdly beautiful, with thick black hair over¬ 
hanging his large and melancholy eyes. He wore noth¬ 
ing but a girdle of leaves fastened around his lithe and 
graceful body, and a wreath of mountain flowers about 
his neck. 

Arthur found himself wondering how he got such 
soulful music out of so peculiar an instrument as the 
one he carried. He wanted to sob with those beautiful 
notes, he knew not why. 

The boy was gazing vaguely on the happy scene. 
He looked like one confused by stepping from a mist 
into the brilliance of a lighted room. 

“I was playing for her,” he said, pointing to the 
path Lilinoe had taken. “Those are her moods. Bright 
as the stars to look on, though the sky is black around 
her. Laughing amidst her sobs, smiling amidst her 


The Luau 


37 


tears. She came into my music. Why? It's always 
someone's spirit that touches the chords I want to 
play." 

He walked towards the table, still moving like one 
in a trance. Arthur was reaching forward to see 
more clearly the outlines of his wonderfully beautiful 
face. Their eyes met and for a moment they looked 
at each other. The boy's face changed. All that was 
beautiful left it. It seemed as if another soul had taken 
possession of his body. He backed for a few paces 
like a tiger ready to spring. 

“Why have you come again to take my prize from 
me?" he shouted. “Surely by now I've earned my 
treasure. Why did you come to seek her on this Is¬ 
land?" 

He was backing slowly as he spoke, the notes of 
his music dropping away with his words. 

“Shame, shame on you, Ewaliko," called the peo¬ 
ple. “How can you spoil our luau?" 

He answered nothing, but muttering to himself 
went further into the shadow of the banyan tree, still 
keeping his eyes on Arthur. 

“He has been much better lately," said one of the 
women. “He has been quieter and played more." 

“Ewaliko is a great soul," spoke up Yee Kui, 
whose presence Arthur had not known of till this min¬ 
ute. The little Chinaman never bothered his master 
about anything—never asked leave of absence, and had 
not spoken of the luau, although he intended to be 
there. “Ewaliko lived many lives," he continued, “but 
he remember too much. Memory no good, memory 
make sad. Sun shines today, no look back when it 
rained." 

He expressed his philosophy with difficulty, but 
the happy crowd got it, though it possibly touched Ar¬ 
thur's soul more than any of theirs. 

No it was no use to look back, unless we gained 
benefit from past experiences. Lot's wife became sta- 


38 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


tionary forever when she turned to the city of hopes 
that were burning, and did not press forward with the 
others to scenes that were ahead. 

The boy had gone on his way, but the plaintive 
notes still lingered on the air. 

“There’s no music on the Islands like that,” said 
Iao. “It is the music of the winds and sea. No man 
can make his instruments; he forms them himself out 
of the grasses and the weeds; he washes them in sea 
water and dries them in the sun.” 

“Has he no parents?” Arthur asked. 

Iao shook his head. 

“His mother no one knows,” he answered. “His 
father was an old kahuna who lived up in the moun-/ 
tain caves. The boy is harmless, but we used to fear 
his father. He had the power to pray to death or make 
well, just as he chose. He’d won the favor of the gods 
and knew the secret passage to their home. There 
was not anything he could not do.” 

“Then why did not he get the gods to help him 
with the boy?” 

“He said that there was nothing wrong with Ewa- 
liko; he’d got the double sight, and we had not. It 
was because we could not see, we thought him wrong. 
This was the only life we knew; but he knew many. 
His body might be here, but his soul went wandering 
to other planes.” 

One of the older women shuddered. “I was up 
on the mountain one day,” she said. “I had climbed 
higher than I intended to do, the air was so cool, so 
sweet up there. I was singing to myself and gather¬ 
ing ‘made,’ as happy as could be, when I turned round 
and saw the old man sitting at the entrance to his 
cave. I was high up, and it had taken long to climb, 
but it did not take long to get down after I’d seen him. 

I just gave one scream, and ran for all I was worth. 

I could not feel my limbs. How they carried me I never 
knew. I was like a pebble rolling, and it seemed as 


The Luau 


39 


if the heavy clouds had taken shapes and chased me 
on all sides. For days and days I felt their vapory 
hands upon my hair.” 

“What did he look like?” asked the people. 

“It seemed to me he had three eyes, one right in 
the middle of his forehead.” 

“Lots of people saw that,” Tom replied. “He told 
someone that third eye told him what went on in our 
homes, so we’d better watch out, or the power would 
reach us.” 

“I never felt safe after that until they told me 
he was dead,” the woman went on slowly. 

“Hush!” whispered one of the men with super¬ 
stition. “His spirit may be listening. An eye like 
that can’t die; they say it lives forever.” 

“The boy says that he is not dead. He sits in the 
cave and talks with him, and at night when the heavy 
storms sweep over the mountain, right on the height 
that eye shines like a star.” 

The pleasure-loving people tired of this conver¬ 
sation. They picked up their ukuleles and Iao sprang 
to his feet. 

“Come on girls,” he said, lightly. “Forget it! 
Let’s have a hula.” 

Arthur slipped quietly away. He did not want 
to join in such revelry and he was thankful no one no¬ 
ticed him as he took the pathway under the cocoanut 
trees to his cottage. 


a 


CHAPTER V. 


The Psychic Ewaliko 

H e was startled suddenly by hearing someone call. 
From under the shadows of the trees, a figure 
moved towards him. It was the wild boy of the 
mountains. His face was calmer now, his mind was on 
another track. 

“Hush/' he said softly, raising his hand. “Why 
does the world make such a noise? These people, how 
they talk, and laugh, they jabber and they sing, and 
what about it when they’ve finished? Which of them 
are the wiser for it? And you, why don’t you listen 
more; why have you got so much to say?” 

Arthur was almost as much taken aback by this 
second onslaught as he had been by the first, seeing 
that he had not as yet opened his mouth to the boy, 
and over at the luau had been the only silent one. 

“They call a man a fool if he takes time to listen,” 
he went on, “but the world is full of voices sweeter 
than our own, voices that tell us many things. Can’t 
you hear them ? They want to talk to you, the spirits 
of the cave.” 

He had come into the moonlight and his face was 
transfigured and shining in the silvery rays. He point¬ 
ed towards a portion of the cliff where the brown rocks 
looked jagged and in places brilliant red. 

“She still bleeds, the great giant,” he said. “She 
died fighting like her ancestors. Look at her open 
wound, no time can heal it. The flowers may grow 
out of its crevices—the grass may sprout up and cover 
it—the vines may twine and twine their arms around 
it, but the hidden wound will always bleed.” 


42 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“What wound ?” asked Arthur, looking with fasci¬ 
nation towards the spot. 

“There’s where she died,” he went on slowly. 
“See how her lifeblood stained the rocks. The white 
man came across the sea and took her from us. Our 
cave, the cave that had belonged to us from the begin¬ 
ning. They still cry for her life, the spirits of the old 
Hawaiians that she sheltered. We played in there 
when we were little children—played one life in and 
out again, and then came back to play. She was our 
rock of ages in the storm, and when we came down 
from the mountain our protection from the cold. She 
was our guardian angel of the night, she spread her 
wings about us while we slept. But they took her from 
us, and she will come back no more.” 

He stopped and shivered slightly. Arthur was re¬ 
calling the history Tom had told him. 

“They took the cave away to give you something 
better,” he said kindly. “The natives told me that 
they had to have a wharf to land the boats. The cave 
was useless, and it took up too much room. They could 
not build with such obstruction. Man has to blast the 
rocks, and often fell the trees to make way for the 
things more needful.” 

The boy looked at him sadly for a moment. “Has 
man to kill his brother to make room for other lives?” 
he asked. “Stand by and see your brother shot, let 
the world tell you that they’ll give you something bet¬ 
ter. They came to blow her up, those people living 
far across the waves. They brought the shell and pow¬ 
der. We saw the landing of their boats and we went 
down to bid a fond farewell.” 

He paused again. Arthur could see the tears were 
wet upon his cheeks, the tears of a native who loves 
every spot of his land. 

“We wanted to die with her, some of us. We sat 
under her shelter till her executioners had come. We 
kissed the vines that twisted their arms in love around 


The Psychic Ewaliko 


43 


her rocks; we said good-bye to the long, waving ferns 
that we had often gathered from her walls; we sat on 
the old stone throne for the last time, and then-” 

“And then?” asked Arthur, forgetting his fear of 
the boy in the interest of the story. 

“And then the god of the deep sent down a mighty 
storm. The sea grew wild, the waves sprang up in 
anger, rushing towards the shore like armies shouting 
for revenge. Clouds big as mountains rolled across 
the sky, lashed by the black wings of a screaming 
wind. Then like a deluge down came the rain, blowing 
from North to South, from East to West, striking the 
people on all sides whichever way they ran for refuge. 
Peal after peal of thunder rent the air—bolt after bolt 
of fire hissed into the sea. The lightning with sword 
of vengeance smote the trees in twain and ripped the 
leaves of the banana into ribbons. 

“We saw boats tossed like leaves upon the highest 
crests of waves, and then tossed down and disappear, 
never to rise again. The earth began to tremble with 
the force. Black darkness threw her mantle over all, 
rolling the ocean, sky and mountains into one—and 
then it seemed the end had come. 

“But out of the shock of the thunder and through 
the shouting of the mighty waves, I heard what others 
did not—I heard a voice sweet as a mountain bird’s 
—so soft, so low, yet audible to me above the storm. 
It was the voice of ‘Wahine,’ the spirit of the cave. 
Long had she lived within its walls and held the open 
house for us. You do not know her story, yet she 
sheltered you when moons were young. Why does the 
world forget, and have to learn its lesson all again? 

“More than two thousand sunrises ago, Wahine 
came across the water. She was a queen of many 
lands, proud, arrogant and beautiful, wanting the best 
things for herself, and wiping out by cruelty and death 
all who were called more beautiful than she. 



44 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“The gods grew angry at her wicked life and, as 
her punishment, made her invisible to mortal eye. 

“Then everyone was seeking for the vanished 
queen, though nobody regretted her, and no one wept 
for her, because she had been cruel to them all. By 
her own table she stood invisible, and saw another 
woman crowned where she had sat. She heard the 
shouts and cheers of her subjects. ‘This queen/ they 
said, ‘is the one we wanted. She is so sweet, so beau¬ 
tiful and kind. We could not love the wicked queen, 
Wahine/ And they put a cloak of scarlet feathers 
round her and draped her with the fairest flowers. 

“At her own table the queen Wahine sat, invis¬ 
ible, and no one came to wait on her nor serve her. She 
tried to box the servants’ ears for disregarding her 
commands, but they only thought it was a heavy wind, 
and ran to close the windows. 

“Weary of hearing others praised and having to 
stand by unnoticed, she stepped into her canoe and 
paddled out to sea, thinking the water might be kinder 
to her than her so-called friends. She had never sailed 
alone before, and the rising tide began to frighten her. 
Boat after boat went past, coming so close they touched 
her paddle, which was invisible to them. In vain she 
called for help. No one could hear her voice. Day after 
day she drifted on the lonely waves, longing and pray¬ 
ing for a sight of land. Then in the distance, suddenly, 
she saw the green of waving palms, the cocoanuts and 
golden sands. She dropped her paddle, threw her arms 
aloft and called into the air: ‘God of the waves and 
seas and winds, let me touch land again, and all my 
life I will give in sacrifice for others. No more for self 
I live. I live to serve.” 

“Her cry, unheard by mortal ear, was carried 
quickly to the gods. A wave spread out and lifted her 
with her canoe as if on wings, carrying her onwards, 
onwards towards the massive mountains towering aloft 
like giants in the distance. She covered her face, as 


The Psychic Ewaliko 


45 


with a mighty sweep the wave descended throwing her 
landward in a cloud of foam. 

“She rose unhurt, and rubbed the water from her 
eyes and looked around. Blue Heavens smiled across 
the sand where we are standing, and palms and flowers 
waved ‘Aloha.' 

“The fishermen came by. They were talking of 
the unexpected tidal wave. ‘It did no damage,' all 
agreed, ‘but just look at the mountain. See how it 
cleft the rocks apart. Look at the lovely cave of refuge 
Neptune has prepared.' 

“The Queen was standing at the entrance, just 
where her canoe had struck. They did not see her, 
but they thanked the good gods for the wave which 
by its mighty force had broken apart the rocks and 
scooped out this great place of shelter for them. 

“So moons rolled in the sky, and stars went out 
and shone again, and still ‘Wahine' gave her life in 
service for us, but she was only visible to few. She 
sat upon her throne and welcomed us to her shelter 
by the warmth of her heart. She decorated the walls 
with ferns and moss and gathered the sea shells and 
hid them in the crevices for little children. 

“It was her voice that I heard in pleading for the 
Island—offering her life for us when Neptune would 
have swept us by his mighty wrath into the depths. 
She rose like thin blue smoke out of the entrance, 
stretching her hands of light towards the sea. 

“Then all grew still. Her soft form melted into 
Heaven's blue—the wind grew gentle as her voice— 
the rain ceased suddenly, and with one foot on sea and 
one on land a rainbow stepped across the sky. The 
gods had claimed their sacrifice; our land was saved. 
Neptune fought for the cave no more. It died, but it 
died fighting. It was a long and slow surrender. It 
was so strong, so old, it held out to the last." 

Arthur was recalling the practical history Tom 
had told him. 


46 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“They had filled the cave with gunpowder, so I 
heard,” he said, “but the storm and heavy rain had 
made it damp so that it was slow to ignite.” The boy 
talked on as if he had not heard. 

“We would awaken in the night and hear the 
groans and shudders—the long, low rumble of the 
stones falling on all sides. She went down like a giant 
stabbed on every hand, losing ground each moment, 
yet though a sacrifice for us, longing to live. Hush,” 
he continued, raising his hand again. “The spirits of 
the old Hawaiians still wail for her. Don’t you hear? 
They are calling, calling for the past.” 

Arthur did not know whether it was the sudden 
wind in the branches of the palm trees, or the waves 
rushing through the hidden crevices of rocks, but the 
long, weird moan came again and again. 

He looked towards the spot where the cave had 
been. He saw the mighty gashes where her body had 
been torn from the overhanging heights. The stones 
and earth surrounding were red as lifeblood flowing 
from an open wound. 

Once more the boy looked towards him. The wild 
light came into his eyes. “And you,” he said, “why 
did you come back here? Why should you take the 
things I love? You came before, you came into our 
land and plucked the prettiest flower, you carried her 
away, you left me in the darkness.” 

“I?” answered Arthur. “What do you mean? I 
never saw your land before. Why should I want your 
women ?” 

The boy’s laugh broke his sentence— “Yes, why?” 
he answered, “but you do. You say you never knew 
our land?—look over there, and you’ll remember.” 

As if some strange magnetic force had drawn him, 
he turned in the direction where the boy was pointing. 
He saw the shadow of himself upon the rocks reflecting 
in the mirror of the ocean. He knew it was himself, 
although the form was strong and handsome, and the 


The Psychic Ewaliko 


47 


limbs were beautiful and full of power. He saw the 
girl of the grass skirt, radiant and lovely stepping 
from the sea. He saw the boy who stood beside him, 
princely and wonderful and strong. He saw a ship sail 
inwards with white sails glittering in the light, and 
then he saw himself stand with the girl upon the deck. 
He saw her arms reach out in love to what was left 
behind. 

“You took her,” said the boy, “and what did I send 
after you? All you are full of now—sickness and 
misery and want. You said that you did not remem¬ 
ber, but you cannot say so any more.” 

The scene had faded as quickly as it came. Ar¬ 
thur breathed deeply, rubbed his eyes like one awak¬ 
ening from a dream. 

“Maybe it won’t be this time,” he went on, sadly, 
“but one will come for her more beautiful than I have 
eyes to see, and when she goes with him my life goes 
like a stricken flower.” 

He walked away, and Arthur stood alone. For a 
moment he was unable to think of anything except the 
weirdness of the place in which he found himself. He 
looked from right to left. Above him was a sky of 
shining light. Beneath his feet the silvery sands, shad¬ 
owed by the long forms of giant palms, and away in 
the distance the red glow of the torches, the sound of 
ukuleles, and the wild dance of the natives in their 
hula. He was glad to get into his cottage and shut 
himself up in his room. 













CHAPTER VI. 


Memories of The Mountain Home 

N ext morning Arthur did not feel inclined to go 
down to the beach. He sat on the sheltered 
lanai looking across the fields of glistening 
sugar-cane, at the calm blue waters of the sea. 

Two dragon flies chased each other in the sun¬ 
light and flitted merrily beneath the leaves of the ba¬ 
nana tree. A long-horned, black and white, straight- 
backed cow munched contentedly in front of him. The 
mud-wasps were carrying their masonry to the top 
of the window. Hens gossiped noisily over their lunch, 
but Arthur's canvas was full of colors that were new 
—he was not even thinking of his health. Above all 
other features in the gorgeous luau of the night be¬ 
fore, one picture stood out clearly, and that was the 
wild dance of the girl. 

A sense of pain was in his soul—a horror born of 
a small conventional life which could not adjust itself 
to the free life of the Islands. He thought of the kind¬ 
ness in her voice when she had helped him to find his 
way along the beach, the first night that he met her. 
He could not associate this character with the shame¬ 
less woman in the hula skirt. 

He had never seen her after that first meeting, 
but every morning just at day-break, some one had left 
a lei of flowers by his door. Flowers freshly gathered 
—flowers of the dawn, with the dew wet upon them. 

To a romantic soul there would have been some¬ 
thing wonderfully poetic in those fairy wreaths and 
horse-shoes placed each day by unseen hands. But 
poetry outside the written verse was far removed from 


50 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


Arthur. He wondered whether he should acknowledge 
them as a gift or else refuse politely to accept them. 

“It is their sweet custom/’ the Chinaman had said, 
when he saw the hesitation on his master’s face. “It 
is ‘Aloha,’ to a stranger on the Islands, and shows 
that you have won their hearts with love.” 

He remembered that there had been no “lei” at 
his door this morning, and he felt glad it was so. 
Somehow he knew instinctively that the girl he met 
upon the beach had placed those flowers there. She 
was a hula dancer. A wild girl of the Islands—this 
might be done for money—he decided he must settle 
up her bill. 

But Lilinoe had not forgotten her gift. She came 
by the side path across the fields. She was later in 
bringing it this morning. She had been down to the 
beach to pick the sea-plants from the shallow water 
—and mixing them with tiny colored shells, had 
formed one of her prettiest leis. 

She came so gently that he did not hear her, and 
before he knew the lei was around his neck. 

She clapped her hands at his surprise and laughed 
just like a child, as he quietly removed it. 

“What did you take it off for?” she asked, lightly. 
“Don’t you like shells and weeds? I thought that they 
would be a change from flowers.” 

“They are a little damp,” he answered, fumbling 
lamely for an excuse before he gave the reason in his 
soul. 

She laughed again, the care-free laugh of the 
Hawaiian. “The damp couldn’t hurt you—the shells 
are full of health and love.” 

His eyes unconsciously were resting on them. The 
same power seemed to reach him that came each morn¬ 
ing with the flowers. It softened the hard feeling in 
his heart. Softened the scorn and the contempt of 
lives as free as hers. 

“You have been very kind to think of me,” he 


Memories of the Mountain Home 


51 


said. ‘‘I do not know your customs here. I have ap¬ 
preciated the flowers, and if you let me know your 
charge-” 

His purse was in his hand. 

Her big black eyes were asking for an explanation. 

“I mean, what money do I owe you for these 
flowers ?” 

She looked at the cold dollars—then out across 
the sun-bathed Island, where in the richest colors, 
thousands of flowers blazed God’s love. He thought 
he saw a shade of sadness cross her face. 

“Money?” she hesitated. “Money for flowers? 
But they would not want to give their lives for money.” 
She reached her hand out as she spoke and plucked 
a fragrant allamanda, flaming bright gold beneath the 
brilliant light. She kissed its open petals like one . 
might kiss the lips of a little child whose tender feel¬ 
ings had been hurt. 

“They live, because they love us,” she said gently 
—“but if they had to sell their lives, they would not 
want to live again.” 

He smiled at her philosophy. 

“You talk as if they had a soul like we have,” he 
said, grimly. 

“A soul?” she hesitated at the words. “You mean 
that lovely something made of light that goes out when 
we leave our body. Yes—flowers have a soul—I’ve 
seen it—it rises on their perfume and floats away into 
the garden of the Gods.” 

A moment’s silence followed her speech, then Ar¬ 
thur said more kindly: 

“You people are a superstitious race—great be¬ 
lievers in romance.” 

She looked at him with gentleness akin to pity. 

“Don’t you believe it, too?” she asked. “Don’t 
you believe that all things live again?” 

“Well, yes—in one way,” he replied. “I believe 
that if the flower sheds its petals, the life will still 



52 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


live in the root. The rays of light fall from the sun, 
but the great ball holds its throne up in the heavens. 
But speaking of a soul, we touch on different ground. 
God gave the soul to human beings alone.” 

“Did He?” she asked. “I wonder why?” 

“We do not need to question,” he replied. “These 
things are an accepted fact.” 

“I wonder why,” she said again. “I wonder why 
He thought that human beings were worthier than 
the flowers.” 

“God created us in His own image,” he went on, 
glad that he seemed to be gaining ground. “We were 
His last creation and his greatest.” 

“Why did your God make us the last, and why 
when He had made so many lovely things, did He give 
the soul to us alone? The flowers must be as much a 
part of Him. I used to think they grew because the 
sun-god kissed the earth.” 

Her persistency was wearying, still she continued: 
“We’re always fighting for ourselves and wanting 
something better. The flowers never ask for anything 
—they only live to give. I don’t know any life as self¬ 
less as a flower’s. The little blossoms shining in the 
grass like stars—the jessamine that climbs the roof— 
the kowalis in their gowns of white and pink—the 
scented haw—the flame of Jack-o’-lantern, all asking 
to be twisted into leis of love. I’ve stopped by hedges 
of night-blooming cereus, and they’ve smiled on me 
like angels’ faces smiling through the dark. Oh, flow¬ 
ers have a soul; I’ve seen it. Some come to heal, some 
come to live, but all come here to serve.” 

“You have much to learn,” he answered, quietly. 

“And much that I don’t want to learn,” she said. 
“It would not make me very happy to think that souls 
belonged to us alone.” 

His eyes rested for a moment upon the flower that 
she had pinned upon his coat when they first met. 
Yee Kui had changed the water, and put it by the 


Memories of the Mountain Home 


53 


window sill. The light was shining on its brilliant 
petals, still fresh and beautiful though all the other 
flowers were dead. 

“That is a mountain flower,” she said. “It gives 
its life to heal the sick. It grows upon the heights in 
crevices unknown, it only blooms at night time, and 
is very difficult to find.” 

Arthur was looking at it with amazement. It 
came to him with sudden surprise that days had passed 
since she had given him that flower, and yet the scent 
was just as sweet, the petals just as fresh. 

“Strange it should live so long,” he said. “I 
never saw one like it.” 

She reached through the open window and touched 
the crimson leaves. “You say that flowers have not a 
soul,” she answered, “and yet that flower asked to 
come to you. You may not crush the lifeblood from 
its petals, but you take the sweetness from its heart. 

“I did not want to give it you at first,” she went 
on, slowly. “It is so hard to find them—and there are 
so few.” 

“But are not others quite as beautiful?” he said. 
“That is a hardy flower, of course. It probably out¬ 
lives the family—but surely other flowers would be as 
good.” 

This time she did not seem to hear him. Her eyes 
were fixed upon the flower. He was glad to turn the 
conversation. He wanted to speak about the doings 
of the night before. 

“I did not like your dance,” he said, emphatically. 
“Where did you learn such foolish things?” 

“To dance?” she asked. “I never learnt it. We 
all dance like we walk and swim. Don’t you dance in 
the land where you live?” 

“Not in that way,” he answered. 

“But we don’t know your dances,” she replied. 
“People from other lands all think us strange—but 
we’re not strange—we’re just ourselves.” 


54 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


Yes, that was true. He must remember he was 
in another land. Must try to help and not condemn 
these people. He paused for a moment, then he said: 
“But you are different from most of them. You speak 
the language better. You seem to have had an edu¬ 
cation/’ 

“My mother was a lady,” she replied. “She taught 
us everything we knew. She had seen your land across 
the water, but this land was her home. 

“My grandmother, they said, was of royal birth, 
but they never told us much about it, and it did not 
matter anything to me. Whether my mother wore a 
pretty gown or hula skirt, she always looked a queen. 
I guess she was real cute and pretty as a child, for 
when the white people came here they saw her playing 
on the beach and wanted to adopt her. My grand¬ 
father was willing she should go, for he had lots of 
children in the hut, and maybe lots to come. So they 
took her over the big water into a lovely home. 

“Sometimes she used to tell us all about it. It 
must have been a funny place to live—they wore so 
many clothes, and at their meals they put a tablecloth 
upon their knees as well as on the table. She had a 
maid to wait on her and pretty things to wear, but she 
was never happy. She wanted the grass hut and sun¬ 
shine. Snow fell where they were living, and in the 
winter it was cold—the flowers were dead, the birds 
were all asleep. 

“She learnt to read and write, to play and sing. 
She learnt so many things that she forgot, and lots 
that she remembered. But she was homesick for the 
Islands. She had played with my father on the beach 
and she could not forget him. He used to come to her 
in dreams, and when the wind blew cold at night, she 
seemed to hear his call come through it. One night 
it wakened her—that call. She saw the Island and 
the blue canoe in which they sailed and hid beneath 


Memories of the Mountain Home 


55 


when they were children. She saw him standing by 
it, waving to her. 

“He was older now, for he was grown, but she 
knew it was her little comrade. She could wait no 
longer, and she came to him.” 

“And was she happy when she got back here?” 

“Happy? Of course. This was her land—the 
land where she was born, and all her people lived. 
She found her playmate of the past, and he became 
my father.” 

Arthur was following her story. 

“Yes, she was best in her own land,” he said. “A 
wild flower will not flourish in a hot-house.” 

“They went to live up on the mountain. They 
built their hut where we were born. It was so beau¬ 
tiful. We seemed to have the world all to ourselves. 
Few people ever knew we lived there. Rocks hid our 
home, and palms and bushes. We had no trail cut to 
our door—only the goats could find the way. 

“You never saw the sunrise here, like we could 
see it on the mountain. We used to climb far up above 
to look at the bright colors. The sky was just a blaze 
of fire, and under us were the clouds. It seemed like 
we were sailing in a great big ship, in the middle of a 
golden sea. Sailing with thousands of menahunes and 
fairies, with robes made out of shining beads. Some¬ 
how we could not talk when we looked at the sunrise 
—it was too great and grand for words. We hardly 
ever went down to the little town, and when we did, we 
wanted to get back—All that we loved we found up 
there—sunsets and birds and trees and flowers. Moon¬ 
light in which the brownies danced. Cool winds which 
carried the scents of pines and sweet smelling maile. 
Big, white stars to look down on us, and the great, 
strong mountain to protect us.” 

“But how did you get fed?” asked Arthur. 

She laughed at such a question. “How do the an¬ 
imals and birds get fed? There was fruit enough in 


56 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


the forests and on the mountain slopes. We drank 
the milk of the cocoanut and the fresh waters of the 
springs. We used to take our morning shower in the 
waterfalls. We did not wear much clothing, for we 
did not need it. Our mother taught us reading from 
the books she brought across the water. She taught 
us how to write and spell. We learned because she 
wanted us to learn, but it seemed to me we had no 
need, for I thought that we would spend our lives for¬ 
ever on that lovely mountain.” 

“And no one lived up there except yourselves?” 

“Only the Kahunas, and they kept people away. 
There were hidden precipices among the trees and 
bushes, and many thought that they were cut as traps 
by these men who lived in caves behind the denseness 
of the foliage. They lived in the wild, rugged jungle, 
no one could tell exactly where.” 

“The Kahunas,” he interrupted. “They talked 
of one last night. Tell me about them.” 

“The ‘Kahunas’ were dreaded by the people of the 
Island. They had the power to pray to death a person 
whom they did not like. When a man was troubling 
him, the King sent word to the Kahuna. If possible 
he got a piece of that man’s hair, or maybe his finger¬ 
nail. The Kahuna had to know his name, and then 
he called it, and gathered all the power of every god, 
and sent it forth like a tornado, and it went whirling 
through space and struck the man, and he fell dead. 
Some men they prayed to death by bits, and then they 
lingered, and they suffered. The people were afraid 
of them, but we were not. I loved them and they 
were always kind to me. 

“My mother said that I was not a happy baby, 
and she could not tell the reason why. She cradled me 
and nursed me, but when I wakened after sleep, I used 
to sob and sob—not like an ordinary baby, but in a 
way which made her take me in her arms and sob with 
me, she knew not why. 


Memories of the Mountain Home 


57 


“One morning when she awoke she found me miss¬ 
ing. I was learning then to creep and crawl. She 
rushed out on the mountain—calling—looking every¬ 
where for me. She had never gone near the homes of 
the Kahunas, but there was one who stood upon the 
hillside in the morning, beating his drum and chanting 
to the sunrise. He was so old—about two hundred, so 
the natives said—but he lived and prayed out on the 
mountains—just lived with life—and lived. 

“My mother found me sitting at his feet. He had 
his face turned to the sunrise and she always said its 
rays had wrapped me round, and I was encircled in a 
golden light. 

“He did not seem to notice me: he never stopped 
his chanting for a moment. But every morning at the 
sunrise I was missing, and they always found me at 
the old man’s feet, encircled in the same gold ring of 
light. 

“One morning when my mother came for me, he 
stopped his chanting, and they talked. 

“He told her I would cry like that no more, for 
love had set me free. I was, he said, a lonely soul, 
carrying the memories of past lives, and when I slept 
I went into those lives and came back feeling strange 
and sad—sad as she felt across the water. He seemed 
to know her story without telling. He said another 
prayer and told her that she need not fear my future, 
because I bore love’s conquering sign, and I would 
triumph over all. 

“She never worried after that. I could go where 
I liked, and she knew that I was safe. 

“I grew to love the old Kahuna. I used to sit with 
him inside his cave. It was away, far out behind the 
bushes. We had to drop down many a gulch to find 
it. Inside it all looked dark at first, but when I sat 
with him awhile, I saw the light. A kind of phos- 
phorant moss grew on the ceiling. It shone like tiny 
moons in a black sky, and the gleams from it fell down- 


58 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


ward in long rays, shining and bright as spiders’ webs 
in the sunshine of the morning. 

“I never tired of sitting there with him. I never 
tired of wandering with him all over the mountain. 
He taught me how to greet the dawn, and how to meet 
the sunrise with a prayer. He showed me how to call 
the power, and how to understand my dreams. 

“On moonlight nights we went to pick the healing 
herbs and flowers. None knew where these grew, ex¬ 
cept the old Kahuna. It did not matter if the moon 
went in, he could always find them. He used to stand 
still for a moment and listen till he heard their call. 
If you had been there, too, you would have known that 
flowers have souls. Souls that smile through their 
shining eyes and parted lips—souls that can talk to 
you without a voice. 

“Other Kahunas prayed to death, but he prayed 
people well. He would not pray for single individuals 
—he prayed for all the world.” 

“Where is he now?” asked Arthur, trying to con¬ 
ceal the interest he felt in her story. 

“He lives,” she whispered, softly, “but no one can 
approach his door. The people have forgotten him, 
or so it seems. He lives away up on the heights, hid¬ 
den by all the trees and gulches. He lives alone. He 
lives to pray.” 

“And do you ever go to see him?” 

“I have not been, I can’t count when. He can 
reach people better at a distance—he does not want 
the human face and hands; he wants that shining 
light, you call the soul.” 

“Does he speak any language but his own?” 

“He can speak many, but when he has spoken, he 
forgets. All things, he says, are ready for us when 
we need them. Don’t overload the vessels. The things 
we want are born with our desire.” 

Arthur was looking steadily at her. She was a 
riddle that he could not read. 


Memories of the Mountain Home 


59 


“Why did you come down from the mountain if 
you were so happy with those peculiar people who had 
made their homes up there ?” he asked. 

She laughed at the “peculiar people .” 

“They weren’t peculiar people,” she replied. 
“Why did I come down from the mountain?” A shade 
of sorrow such as he had never seen upon her face, 
clouded it for a moment. Her eyes turned to the 
flower shining upon the window sill. 

“I would have stayed up there forever,” she said, 
softly, “but many changes came. The angels of the 
night called for my mother. She was still young, and, 
oh, so beautiful, but she told us that her count of years 
was over, and there was something wonderful await¬ 
ing her. She did not know just what it was, but she 
said it lay behind the sunset. 

“We were sitting on the mountain side one Sum¬ 
mer evening. The air had never seemed so fresh, the 
flowers had never smelt so sweet. The stars were 
white as blossoms in the sky. The sea looked like a 
sea of gold—so calm, so full of rest—we might have 
walked its shining floor. 

“We generally sang at night time and played our 
ukulele, but tonight we were not singing—we wanted 
to sit still and listen. We seemed to be expecting 
something. I had never seen my mother look so beau¬ 
tiful. We had put a wreath of snowy jessamine upon 
her hair. It flashed like a crown of jewels in the 
moon’s clear light. 

“Suddenly my father raised his hand. He said 
he heard a voice far in the distance. My mother smiled 
and answered that she heard it, too. 

“ Tt is my guardian angels,’ she said, softly, ‘and 
they call for me.’ 

“No forms were visible—only a cloud, soft, white 
and beautiful dropped low upon the mountain. I 
watched it drawing nearer, its light growing brighter 
every moment, till like a brilliant sun it flashed before 


60 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


my eyes, and then I saw it was no cloud, but a form in 
dazzling white, with outstretched shining wings, which 
closed around our dear one until she, too, became a 
blaze of light, and after that I knew no more.” 

She stopped. Her face had caught the radiance 
of the past experience and it made her beautiful beyond 
expression. “Could this be,” Arthur thought, “the 
dancer of the night before?” 

“We laid her to rest by the little hut where she 
had lived upon the heights, between the sunset and 
the sea. We covered her with the mountain flowers 
—sweet-scented violets, silver sword and moss and 
lichens. 

“It was a night just like it had been when the 
guardian angels came, so still, so calm, so pretty. She 
had promised she would send a sign to show us she 
was with us, and while we stood out on the mountain, 
rain, soft as dew fell from the sky, and right above the 
silver moon a rainbow broke, and then another, and 
another. 

“They disappeared and came again, like angels smil¬ 
ing through the colors of the sky. Then in the tree 
above our heads a bird broke out in song. I never 
knew what kind of bird. I never heard a song so 
sweet. It seemed to me that her dear spirit was sing¬ 
ing to us through those rich and lovely notes. She 
had promised us a sign to tell us that she lived again 
—and we had got it—she was happy.” 

Again she paused. Then Arthur asked: 

“Your father—what of him?” 

“He wasn’t long to follow. He always said he 
heard her call, and one night he went out to meet her. 
They both sleep on the mountain side—while we-” 

“How many are there of you?” Arthur asked. 

“Only my brother and myself.” 

“Your brother? Is he with you now?” 

“Not now,” she answered, and then she said no 
more, but once again her eyes turned to the flower. 



CHAPTER VII. 


The Kahuna 

T he revival of old history had made Lilinoe long 
for scenes of the past. She kept no record of 
years. Time was counted by events, and much 
had happened since she visited the old Kahuna. 

Often she had sensed his presence with her. 
Many times had heard his voice in the chanting to the 
sunrise. Even in her secret sorrow which she had 
hidden from her kindest friends, she had not sought 
his aid, though she felt instinctively that he must know. 
Once he had said to her in the few talks they had to¬ 
gether: “We cannot move until the stars are ready.” 
She had gone up the mountain many times and drawn 
very near his door, but unseen hands seemed to pre¬ 
vent her entrance. It was easy to set forth this morn¬ 
ing, so she knew the time had come. 

Down on the beach she met Ewaliko. He was 
gathering shells like a happy, natural child—the events 
of the luau all forgotten. His moods changed like the 
weather, but Lilinoe understood him. She knew as the 
old Chinaman had said, that he was wandering through 
too many lives in one. She knew he was happier on 
the mountains, talking to the birds and flowers and 
sleeping in the starlight. People distressed and ex¬ 
cited him, and it was always her effort to get him 
back to his own environment. 

He came towards her smiling and bound a lei of 
seaweed round her neck, then pointed across the water. 

“The waves are happy in the sunshine,” he said, 
gently. “See how they love the sky.” 


62 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“And how the sky loves them,” she answered, al¬ 
ways falling in with his sweet fancies, as she looked 
upon the bright reflection of Heaven’s glorious blue. 

“Come, Ewaliko,” she continued, as she put her 
arm around him—“we are going up the mountain— 
you and I.” 

He did not attempt to refuse. In her presence he 
was always sweet and gentle as a little child. Look¬ 
ing into her face with eyes that smiled like a flower 
he might have been another character from the wild 
boy of the luau. They climbed like mountain goats 
from peak to peak, pelting each other now and again 
with flowers, or twisting a lei of maile about their 
necks. On one high peak they paused and looked down 
on the calm blue waters far below. The boy laid his 
head on her shoulder as he whispered: 

“You are my sky, and I the sea. 0, would there 
could be no more storms, but all just like today— 
sweet peace and rest.” 

She knew his mind was drifting to a past which 
she did not remember. She took his hand in hers, and 
they went on again, until the scene began to fade and 
a soft white fog dropped round about them. The walk¬ 
ing grew more difficult, and then again they paused 
and Ewaliko turned towards her. He never went be¬ 
yond this point. He had an unvoiced fear of the great 
heights. They met in one long fond embrace, and then 
he sadly asked: 

“How many more times shall we walk this way? 
How long before he claims you—takes you away—and 
leaves me desolate?” 

“No one will take me, Ewaliko,” she replied. 

“Why do you contemplate such a thing? How 
could I ever leave the land I love?” 

A light of joy came to his eyes, but faded just as 
quickly as it came. 

“But he is coming for you,” he responded. “I 
often think that he is here. I sit out in the darkness 


The Kahuna 


63 


and try to get the vision of his face, but somehow I 
see nothing, only the smile of the stars.” 

She put her fingers on his forehead and rubbed 
them lovingly across his brow. 

“Forget it, Ewaliko,” she said, gently. “You’re 
wandering to a history long ago. The white man from 
the coast maybe upset you. Forget him now—think 
of your music and the flowers.” 

Today her influence did not reach him. 

“He took you once—that white man,” he re¬ 
sponded. “He may not take you just like that again, 
but he builds the bridge for you to cross. I knew 
twelve moons ago that he was coming. I saw it in my 
waking dreams.” 

He turned away with a sigh, which melted into 
notes of music, plaintive as a wind among the pines. 

“Dear Ewaliko,” she said, sadly, as she looked at 
his receding figure, slim as a reed, graceful and beau¬ 
tiful in form. “Why should he get these nervous fan¬ 
cies? I go away from here? Away from this dear 
mountain—away from the grass hut—away from him 
—my brother? Never.” 

She shook off the thought and climbed still higher 
—feeling her footsteps over tracks unbroken and 
stones hidden by moss and scrubby bushes, until the 
land below was blotted out and through the wastes of 
clouds she found her way to the heights. 

The hut she sought was built inside a cave—the 
great, strong walls of which sheltered it from the 
mountain storms and heavy rains. 

Outside, the old Kahuna sat. With sunshine up 
above—and down below, the banks of clouds, he looked 
like some great sea god, seated on a throne of silver 
crested foam. 

His brow was marked by many lines—not ugly 
lines—but lines of strength written in powerful story 
by the pen of life. White as the silver sword growing 
on the highest altitude, his unkempt hair fell over his 


64 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


shoulders and his bright eyes shone like clear stars, 
unclouded by a mist. 

No one for years had come to him, but he did not 
seem surprised to see Lilinoe. His smile to her was 
very kind, though for a little while they did not speak. 
There was something divinely beautiful in the un¬ 
broken silence. The rest to her was sweet as it had 
been when as a little crying child she crept into his 
understanding heart. 

Yet in one way how lonely it must be for him 
away up here, with no companionship beyond the in¬ 
sects, birds and trees. Her mind went quickly to an¬ 
other, still more lonely, and the sudden tears filled 
her eyes. 

He got her thought and his voice was kind and 
sympathetic as he answered: 

“Human companionship is very sweet, but the 
soul must know there is no distance. The hand of 
flesh is but the petal for the flower’s scent. We long 
for lips that cling to ours, for arms that hold us in a 
fond embrace. But love need not take visible expres¬ 
sion. The things most powerful are the things invis¬ 
ible to mortal eyes. You came to me to ask for favors 
from the gods. The gods do not have favorites. I 
spend my time in prayer—but not for individuals. I 
do not pray alone for this small Island, for it is but 
one tiny flake of snow among myriads on the moun¬ 
tain heights. I pray for all the mighty worlds in 
space. Worlds within worlds and worlds beyond us. 
Worlds that our outward eyes have never seen. Worlds 
that our inner sight is not prepared for. Worlds filled 
with voices sweet, and glories unrevealed. To send 
our love out on the wings of prayer to one alone would 
not be right, for love created and embraces all. The 
sun shines on the weeds and flowers alike. To that 
great force which some name love, all things must be 
the same.” 


The Kahuna 


65 


“And yet do not the gods love some more dearly 
than others, and grant them many favors ?” asked 
Lilinoe. 

“No, some love the gods more dearly and walk 
within the knowledge of the laws of the creation, and 
thus they draw those so-called favors to them. The 
man who does not know our land will miss its hidden 
fruits, but the native walks in the paths where he 
will find them.” 

“But when I was a little child you prayed for 
me,” she said. 

“Not for you as an individual,” he replied. 

“Not for you as a sweet and pretty little child 
who pleased my fancy. You healed yourself like all 
of us must do. Love was all round about you, but you 
cried for the love of former lives—a love which your 
newly incarnated soul thought lost. 

“But nothing in the universe is lost. The stars 
may vanish on a misty night, but when the mist has 
drifted they are there. The love you craved had never 
left you, but you were groping for connection. My 
prayer went out for every soul in the vast universe. 
Those who were ready felt its power. One of those 
souls you w’ere. You had the open door. Love entered 
in. It was no favoritism.” 

“My brother-” she began. 

“You need not tell me. He will meet salvation 
when the time has come. Why do we need to hurry 
things when we go on forever? To me there is no 
time, no count of seasons. Your brother is just one 
flower in the great and beautiful lei of life, and be¬ 
cause he appeals more to the human senses that is no 
reason why I should pause by him. In some way he 
has missed the path, for love has never placed him 
where he is. 

“The wave of prayer goes out, traveling through 
space with the rapidity of light. It pauses over none, 
but if the boy is ready, he will receive the power and 



66 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


use it. He will flourish on it like you did. It will 
build his house afresh, for love wills no one to be sick. 
Love would not wish to see its loved one suffer. If 
he believes in love alone, he will be well. ,, 

He paused and they sat in the silence broken only 
by the gentle talking of the birds and the whispered 
answers of the leaves and flowers. Time slipped away 
on angel’s wings while in his presence. 

“Tell me,” he said at last, “what colors are in 
the sunset.” 

She did not know the sun was setting, but already 
the sky above and the cloud banks beneath were bril¬ 
liant as a crater fire. She placed her hands over her 
eyes as she looked into the light. 

Colors of all descriptions flashed with a rapidity 
which made words weak. Blazes of gold, bright as a 
plover’s wing, deepening to orange, and fading into 
primrose tints—touched here and there by fragments 
of brilliant clouds, like the fallen blossoms of the flame 
poinsettia. Lines of crimson, and pink delicate as sea 
shells. Again rich purple shades, royal as the robes 
of kings, toning to hues as soft and velvety as the 
petals of a gold-eyed pansy. 

Without a word she looked upon the swiftly 
changing scene, wishing that nature’s artist would not 
work so fast. It seemed as if in one brief moment 
all had come and gone, or were caught up in a flame 
of dazzling white—so bright, so beautiful that like 
the stars in the full rays of noonday, each color lost 
itself within the blaze. 

“What colors do you see?” he asked again. 

She put her hands over her eyes and tried to look 
into the shining brightness. 

“I don’t see any,” she replied. “They have all 
gone. I can see nothing but a great white light.” 

“My prayer is answered, then,” he said. “The 
time is nearer than I thought.” 

He lifted up his hands in blessing and rising to 
his feet, stepped forth into the flame, until it shone 


The Kahuna 


67 


around him in a brilliant aura, through which the 
colors flashed like rainbows in the sun. 

His eyes were bright with prophecy, as far away 
he pointed to the unseen promised land. 

“Look at the colors now, my child,” he said, “as 
they are broken by the prism. These colors represent 
the different nations—divided, separated, often at war 
—yet all belonging to the one immortal flame. 

“Like sheep they have wandered from the shep¬ 
herd, driven astray like clouds by every wind. Un¬ 
conscious of their value they have broken the best 
gifts of the gods—have left their own bright fields 
of promise to fight for another’s gain. But all good 
gifts are equally divided, and when man thinks he 
gains another’s ground, he loses that much of his own. 
But they are coming back to the beginning—they are 
coming to build where they destroyed. They are com¬ 
ing like tired fighters from the field. They will erect 
where they tore down. 

“No longer shall man fall for woman’s love, but 
lifted on the white wings of its purity, shall be in¬ 
spired to noble acts and deeds. And by this power 
shall woman lead the nations. 

“Upon our Island a woman native shall arise. 
Her light shall be bright as the chariot of the sun. 
Brighter than Pele’s fires it shall shine. The men 
shall follow her, but she shall know no man, but shall 
give to all, the vision of an isle more glorious than 
Wakea—where the sword shall be no more, and men 
shall walk as gods. From shore to shore the light of 
her vision shall travel, until like a golden girdle, it 
has encircled the whole earth.” 

He ended his prophecy suddenly, and returning 
to his hut, he shut the door. 

Lilinoe stood alone, enveloped in the clouds. The 
sunset had vanished. There was a bitter coldness in 
the air, but her heart was full of a strange rapture 
—something too wonderful to understand. 




CHAPTER VIII. 


The Hawaiian Healer 

T he days that followed were somewhat trying to 
Arthur. In the case of a severe illness one might 
have called it the getting better stage. He was 
impatient with his life and his surroundings. He was 
tired of the house, tired of the beach. The very beauty 
of the Island nauseated him, like the heavy perfume of 
an over-scented valentine. The vitality of the natives 
made him fretful. He was even out of temper with 
his faithful little Chinaman, and spoke sharply to him 
more than once, concerning his slow ways. 

Yee Kui took it all without a word. Sucked his 
pipe a little harder, and continued to watch his master 
with the sympathy that one might watch a plant grow¬ 
ing on foreign soil. 

He had not seen Lilinoe since the morning after 
the luau, and he assured himself that he was glad. 

The fishermen had been very kind, but even with 
them he felt he must not form too close acquaintance 
—it might annoy him in the future. 

The future! But after all, what did the future 
hold for him? How little he had thought of it. Others 
had made him believe that on this plane he had no 
future — that his miserable existence as an invalid 
would end in death. A future! It gave him energy 
to think of it. 

But even so, if life’s path stretched before him, 
what was there he could do? Who needed him in this 
great world, where there were others so much better? 
This thought stepped in, and wiped out his bright hope 
with cruel fingers. If he should leave the Island, where 


70 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


would he go, and what would be his aim? If he 
dropped out of existence, who would there be to care? 
He smiled satirically. Friends of the family would 
say with resignation: “Well, poor soul; he’s better 
off. He was always suffering, anyway.” 

A sense of deep resentment crept over him at the 
narrowness of his life—its little interest, its limited 
love. 

At this moment nature seemed in sympathy with 
his mood. The sky was suddenly overcast, a heavy 
shower began to fall; he got up hurriedly and walked 
towards the cottage. In the distance he could hear the 
sound of an ukulele. A native boy and girl came down 
the walk and stopped to kiss beneath the majenta 
flowers of the bougainvilla arch. Arthur turned away 
with a sense of disgust which might have been trans¬ 
lated “pain.” It was natural, he supposed, but he had 
never known such things. No one had kissed him, 
even as a child. In his caged and lonely boyhood he 
had often craved a love fondly expressed. Respect he 
had always felt for the aunt who had spent her time 
in Sunday School work, sick visiting and sewing for 
bazaars, and who would pat him on the head when 
she went out, tell him to do his lessons well and not 
get cold. But love, what had it ever meant to him, 
he who had never known a friend? 

Somehow he did not want to go indoors; the clouds 
had cleared; the shower had spent itself as quickly 
as the tears of a child. Sunshine and rainbow clasped 
hands in the sky. He took the path by the rocks and 
stood there thinking. The fishermen in the distance 
waved their hands to him, but he scarcely noticed. 
His mind was so occupied that he did not even watch 
his footing, and in a moment he had slipped and fallen. 
Tom Wahiako was the first to reach him. Arthur had 
quickly gained his feet but his face looked white, and 
his hand was resting on his arm. 


The Hawaiian Healer 


71 


“It was a bad fall,” said the fisherman, “and you 
look shaken.” His touch was tender and his voice 
as sympathetic as a woman’s. 

“It was my arm,” replied Arthur. “I struck it 
on that jagged point of rock.” 

“I understand,” Tom answered, kindly, “but you 
need not be afraid. My grandmother can fix you. 
She’s a dandy at a break.” 

“You do not think it’s broken, surely,” said Ar¬ 
thur in alarm. 

“Well, it looks like that to me,” was the cheerful 
answer. “I know a break any time by the way the 
limb is hanging.” 

A broken limb and no surgeon, not a boat to bring 
in help! Tom saw his expression of physical pain 
change to one of fear, and he put his arm assuringly 
around him. 

“A break doesn’t amount to much with us,” he 
said. “You trust to me. It is not far to walk. My 
grandmother is the best soul in the world. So far as 
we know she has passed her hundredth birthday, but 
we don’t count age, as I told you, any more than we 
count flowers. She’ll treat you just as soft as if you 
were a baby. She can’t talk your language, but I’ll 
stay by and translate for you.” 

Arthur was glad to hear it. He felt a tower of 
strength was near him in this broad, big-hearted fish¬ 
erman. 

“Now just step easily and lean on me,” he went 
on, kindly, as he almost carried him across the rocks. 
“Don’t you get scared. It’s the fear of the centipede 
and not the bite that puts the poison in the blood. 
Why, my old grandmother loves every insect. She 
heals the birds with broken limbs and makes them 
fly again. She feeds even the rats out of her hands, 
and never yet had one to bite her.” 

“Is it much further?” Arthur asked. “She doesn’t 
live up on the mountain, does she?” Somehow he 


72 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


placed all people of this kind up on the heights, and 
his courage failed him at the thought. 

“She lives right here,” answered Tom, stopping 
by a small taro patch and pond. Under a high papia 
tree an old bare-footed woman sat upon the grass, 
weaving sweet flowers into leis. She looked like one 
who had expected them, and her grandson smiled with 
pleasure that his “wireless” had reached her. They 
talked together for a time in their own tongue, then 
speaking English,/ Tom explained: “She wants you 
to lie flat on your back right in the sunshine and let 
God’s fiery finger touch your arm.” 

Arthur thought of the rain that had recently fal¬ 
len and how from childhood they had warned him of 
damp grass. The woman seemed to get his thought 
and answered it in her own language. 

“She will tell you nothing that will harm you,” 
Tom translated. “The gentle wind has dried all Na¬ 
ture’s tears. She can cure you quickly, but you must 
believe, for the medicine has ears and it has eyes.” 

Arthur looked at the two with horror. He could 
not see the deep spiritual truth lying beneath this 
paganism and heathen talk. Still there was nothing 
else he could do but follow their instructions. He 
would have risked almost anything for relief from 
a pain that was foreign, and there was no other help 
to be obtained. 

Tom’s smiling assurance gave him courage. 
“Trust me,” he said, strongly, “and do just what we 
say. No harm but only good will come to you.” 

Arthur believed him and lay on the sun-warmed 
grass, while the woman skinned off the bark of a cocoa- 
nut tree above the ground where the sun struck most 
powerfully. Quietly and systematically she pounded 
it into a pulp, murmuring words he could not under¬ 
stand while she mixed in the salt. 

“Nature heals all things,” said Tom. “My grand¬ 
mother knows where the most powerful medicines are. 
Look up and count the cocoanuts on every tree.” 


The Hawaiian Healer 


73 


Arthur began to count while the long, bony fingers 
of the woman worked on his arm. Once or twice he 
was conscious of a terrific twinge, but he kept on 
counting harder, till the light and bright blue of the 
sky grew dazzling, and suddenly the cocoanuts began 
to tumble from the trees, play leap-frog with the sun, 
and then in one great heap came rolling toward him, 
taking the form of a man who had Tom Wahiako’s 
eyes and kindly smile, with an addition of blue sky for 
hair. The murmuring of Hawaiian voices came to him 
like the far distant sea, and he remembered no more. 

Twice he awoke to feel strong fingers on his arm, 
adding what dimly seemed to him another coat of paint 
on the top of what was dry. Evening had come before 
the voices sounded clear. 

“You are better/’ Tom was positively assuring 
him. “Wake up; you must go home.” 

Arthur did not feel any desire to awake. He was 
still deliciously drowsy and for the moment had for¬ 
gotten all about his arm. 

The sun was setting. The great heat of the day 
had gone, but the grass felt warm beneath him. The 
trees looked real again. 

“It didn’t hurt much, did it?” Tom continued, as 
he helped him to his feet. “My grandmother went into 
the house. She never talks after her healing. She 
told me to take you home and in two days remove the 
bandage. You will not need it after that. Your arm 
will be quite well. On the third morning go to greet 
the dawn.” 

Arthur listened vaguely. He was grateful for 
the help, but healing swift as this seemed an impossi¬ 
bility. 

> He did not refuse Tom’s offer to lean on him like 
a strong brother, and together they made their way 
towards the cottage. 


74 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“I never paid her,” he said, pausing suddenly. 
“What does she charge for work like this?” 

Tom smiled at the idea of money mixed with their 
religion. “She told you you must greet the dawn,” 
he answered. “The power from which the healing 
comes, the sun that shone on you while you lay there, 
the cocoanut that gave its bark. Go to the Source of 
All. She wants no money.” 

The tone was not meant to be reproving but Ar¬ 
thur felt corrected. It made his purse feel small. 
These people in one sense had the great idea. It was 
the Giver of all Good he had to thank. 

He was surprised to see a crowd around the cot¬ 
tage. The news of the accident had traveled rapidly, 
and every loyal Hawaiian soul was stirred with pangs 
of sympathy and the desire to help. Flowers sweet 
and beautiful adorned his room. Fresh fish was cook¬ 
ing in the oven, baskets of fruit were on the table. 
Yee Kui had his couch prepared with books and read¬ 
ing lamp beside it. 

“Just call on us if you are in need,” said Iao, com¬ 
ing forward with his kindly smile. “Remember we 
are all your friends.” 

Yes, those were the right words—his friends! 
He looked around at the loving people full of good 
wishes for his happiness, ready to run and give assist¬ 
ance, only so sorry that there was not more that they 
could do. 

These were the people he had shut out of his 
future, because they were of a different race and color. 
So ignorantly arrogant, fearing to step out of his nar¬ 
row circle of conventional life, he had trampled on the 
grandest jewels, because the case which held them 
was not designed just like his own. He scorned his 
ingratitude, his bigotry and pride. How would he 
look if the great vision of St. John came true and all 
nations, kindred, people and tongues, met in the white 
light of universal brotherhood. Would he with a few 


The Hawaiian Healer 


75 


others miss the glory of that light because he said 
“these people are not mine”? 

He was glad to be alone in his room. In its tightly 
bandaged case his arm was restful, and the sense of 
comfort had taken the place of pain. He looked out at 
the sunset until the sky grew purple with the shades of 
night and the leaves of the samang tree had closed in 
sleep. Flowers in his room and loving friends around 
him, yet not one utterance of gratitude had he given. 

A footstep sounded on the lanai. It was a step 
that he knew well, but tried not to expect. The scent 
of roses filled the room—Lilinoe was leaning through 
the window. Her arms were full of blossoms freshly 
gathered. His heart was very tender at that moment. 
He reached his hand to her in welcome. She raised 
it to her lips and he could feel her tears were falling. 
Tears of sympathy for his suffering. It touched his 
soul. Who had there ever been who had wept for him? 

“I am feeling better,” he said, kindly, pushing his 
own emotion in the background. “You have been very 
good and thoughtful of me.” He wanted to say more 
but it was hard to give expression. 

“You will be well,” she answered, gently, “but 
you must come and greet the dawn. On the third 
morning I will come for you. Be ready. You must 
sleep now, and sleep will make you well. Good night, 
Ku Aloha.” 

He saw her glide away into the starlight. He did 
not know the meaning of her last words, nor did he 
know whether it was the scent of the roses which 
carried him out so quickly, but in another moment he 
was fast asleep, sleeping without a dream until the 
noisy call of the “mynah birds” aroused him like the 
sharp call of an alarm clock, to the sunshine of the 
morning. 









CHAPTER IX. 


The Fisherman’s Story 

I AO Hapai was fishing on the reef. The sky was full 
of stars. The blaze from his fagot of ti-leaves 
shone weirdly over the dark rocks, an enticing at¬ 
traction for the unsuspecting fish. His gaze was fixed 
intently on the waters: the love of sport shone in his 
eyes. 

Iao had been a sportsman ever since when a little 
unclothed lad he had chased the fish through the waves, 
and cleverly caught them in his hands. He delighted 
in telling stories of his shark hunts and how he had 
sometimes come across those monsters fast asleep in 
the pool of a cave. His face grew brilliant and his 
mouth worked with excitement when he described the 
capture from one of the canoes, and the honor and 
pride he felt in dragging the man-eater home. . 1 
Lilinoe came and sat on the reef beside him. She 
had much on her mind that she wanted to talk to him 
about. 

“The fish bite good tonight,” he said. “I've got 
some fine fellows for the man who is sick. I tell you 
Lil, we've got to look out for that man. He can't live 
on flowers, however pretty they are.” 

“I know it,” she answered. 

“He wants feeding good and plenty,” Iao con¬ 
tinued. “They couldn't have got much in the land he 
came from. He’s as thin as a streak of moonlight.” 

Lilinoe was watching the dancing reflection of the 
stars on the surface of the water. 

“He's a good fellow,” Iao continued, as he pre- 


78 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


pared a new bait for his hook. “What do you think 
of him, Liir 

“I know that he’s good, and I love him,” she an¬ 
swered. 

Iao forgot his line and fish. The live shrimp he 
was about to use as bait, dropped into the water and 
vanished from sight. 

“You love him?” he said. “Why, Lil, you know 
nothing about him. You’ve had some experience with 
these men from the coast. You know that a love like 
that ends in sorrow. Don’t love him, Lil. It will bring 
you nothing but trouble.” 

“How am I going to help it?” she asked. 

He was for a moment baffled how to reply. He 
laid aside his fishing rod and sat down upon the rocks. 
He no longer wanted to feed the man who was sick. 

“Lilinoe,” he said, taking hold of her hand, “I 
said this man from the coast was a mighty good fellow, 
and I meant every word that I said. He may not be 
so fine looking as some, but he is honest, of that I am 
sure. I’ve talked with him lots of times on the beach. 
I got kind of fond of his nature myself. He’s a far 
better fellow than any we’ve had, but I warn all the 
girls 4o watch their steps close when it comes to those 
men from over the water.” 

“But he is different from others,” she said, 
j “Love always sees people different,” he answered. 

Lilinoe was silent. The edge of the moon looked 
over the clouds like the peak of a golden mountain. 

“Lilinoe,” he asked, suddenly, “did he encourage 
you ?” 

“Oh, no,” she responded; “that’s why I love him. 
Others will take all you will give them, but this man 
wants nothing, not even a flower.” 

“But, Lilinoe, he’s a man from the coast,” he con¬ 
tinued. “They come over here and fall in with our 
life for the time but they won’t take that life with them 
over the water. It’s just the fun of a day that they 


The Fisherman’s Story 


79 


want. They drink the cup of love to the dregs with our 
girls, and then they go on, holding it, maybe, some¬ 
where in memory, but they never return. You’ve al¬ 
ways been to me like a sister. You never wanted a 
closer connection, but Lilinoe, you know when you 
make up your mind, I am ready.” 

“I know,” she responded, “but that would not be 
love. You will always be just a wonderful brother, 
but you don’t bring the music into my heart that he 
does. Why are you bitter, Iao? If this man only 
makes me glad for the time, is not it worth the sorrow 
that follows?” 

“Not bitter,” he answered, but his mouth closed 
tight for a moment and his expression contradicted 
his words. “Not bitter, Lil. The folks know here I’ve 
forgotten and forgiven the past, but it comes up again 
tonight with your story. You know her little grave 
lies at the foot of the mountain—the grave of the wo¬ 
man who sung in my heart like you say this man sings 
in yours.” * 

Lilinoe knew the story, though he had never 
spoken of it in her presence. 

“We people love many times, they say,” he con¬ 
tinued. “We love because we must love. That was 
a boyish romance and filled with all the golden glow 
of the early years, but it’s a page cut out of my book 
to make way for others. I would not shut love out of 
my life because it had happened.” 

There was a pain in his voice such as she had 
never believed could be possible. Her emotional na¬ 
ture was touched. 

“Tell me about it,” she said. 

“Maybe I will,” he replied. “It may help you to 
hear it, though, as I said, I never think of it now. 
It happened before you came down from the mountain. 
The girl was an orphan. I’d done lots to help her and 
of course she grew into my heart. She was so cute 
and so pretty, with such saucy eyes. She would go 


80 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


into the water with me and catch the fish in her hands, 
but she never would kill them, and before I could stop 
her she let them go back in the waves. 

“We were just like two kids playing together— 
surfing, picking shells, and making leis to twine round 
our necks. We climbed the mountains, we followed 
the sea, we went into the caves. 

“She had the most adoring love nature and every 
man wanted her, but there was no other man she would 
look at but me. We had arranged for our marriage. 
The little home where I live, I built like a bird would 
build for her loved ones. We planned everything, and 
then when the time was just ready this man that 
you’ve heard of, came out from the coast. 

“I really believe to this day that he loved her, 
though other folks say that he did not. I could not 
blame him for falling in love. What man could help 
it? I’d done it myself, but my love was honest. 

“She believed he would marry her and take her 
over the water. She didn’t know what that going over 
there would mean to one of her blood. She had built 
her world around him and didn’t even realize that his 
people would have to live in that world. I felt her love 
drifting out of my heart, though I did not let on it 
was so. I fished and I sung and I jollied with people, 
and nobody thought that I knew. But the end had 
to come. I met them one night on the beach, with 
their arms around each other.” 

“Poor Iao,” said Lilinoe, “it hurt awfully, didn’t 
it?” 

“Hurt isn’t the word,” he answered, intensely. 
“Love hurts, Lilinoe, but this had got past the hurt. 
It turned me to stone—it killed something in me— 
right there.” 

They were still for a moment, then he continued: 

“I had the lei round my neck that I had made for 
her. She always wanted me to wear it first, so that 
all my love would go into the flowers. I delighted in 


The Fisherman’s Story 


81 


making those leis. I kissed every petal and leaf as 
I wove them* That night I had gathered white roses. 
I thought they resembled her pure, white soul. Roses— 
whenever their scent comes to me, it carries the mem¬ 
ory of that night and the lei. 

“I made my mistake when I told her that if she 
wanted this fellow, to take him. Instead of doing that 
I ought to have acted as brother, for there was the 
time she needed my love and protection. But jealousy 
turned me insane. I let her go her own way. I had 
only one prayer in my heart, and that was, that all I 
had suffered should come back on her.” 

“It was natural,” said Lilinoe. 

“I returned to my cottage. The lei was still round 
my neck, but it seemed like a serpent twisting about 
me—strangling the life breath out of my throat. I 
can feel it sometimes even yet, but not as the serpent. 
It comes like her arms of love—clinging and asking 
forgiveness.” 

There was a long pause, then he slowly continued: 

“Tom came to live with me in the cottage. The 
cottage I’d built for us both, with the windows look¬ 
ing out on the sea. Tom had the big heart. He had 
gone through the same. We most of us meet it—that 
is if we know love. 

“He tried to make fun of it all. ‘There’s as good 
fish in the sea as ever were caught,’ he would say. 
‘Don’t stop throwing in the line because one big beauty 
drops into the waves.’ 

“0, I knew there were lots of fruits on the trees. 
I would not give in because the blossom was blighted. 
I held my head in the air. I was one with the girls.” 

“But you cared all the same,” answered Lilinoe. 
“Did you ever meet her again?” 

“Yes, once or twice, but my heart-beats were gone. 
I met her each time with a feeling of sorrow, for I 
knew what would happen. 

“I heard she was going to marry this man. She 



82 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


had lost her head over him, everyone said. He had 
a power, no doubt, though I never could see it. He was 
a fine talker—his voice was gentle and soft. Give me 
the rough spoken man who is honest. He claimed to 
have what he called second vision, and he told her tales 
that suited her fancy, for she was always a bit of a 
poet. I could not talk poetry to her. I was only a 
man of the Islands. He went away to prepare for 
their wedding. He wrote several times, I believe, and 
then he stopped writing, and didn’t come back.” 

“Well?” asked Lilinoe. 

“Well, she went out to find him. She had heard 
he was still in the city. She had never been out of 
our port, but love knows no barriers. She went out 
to find him. Bless her, she went out alone. It was 
cruel, but I could not prevent it—even though I saw 
the end of it all. 

“She got to Honolulu and found the hotel from 
which he had written. He was not in at the time, so 
she sat in the lobby and waited for him. I can picture 
her now—just how she would look in her little pink 
dress. A sweet, natural flower among all the fine 
birds of the city. 

“She waited until she heard the sound of his voice. 
It must have made her heart thrill—child of love that 
she was. He did not know she was there, and of course 
he was with another woman.” 

Lilinoe was earnestly listening. “And then, Iao?” 
she asked. 

“Well, then I suppose she was struck deaf, blind 
and dumb, like I was on such an occasion. 

“Somehow she felt she could not approach him. 
She crept quietly away, but wrote him a note, and 
begged him to see her. 

“She waited three days for an answer. God, 
what those days must have been! Alone in the city— 
my little girl—having to beg for a word from the 
man who had drawn out her love. 


The Fisherman’s Story 


83 


“He would not see her, of course. He had not 
the courage. He sent her a note to say it was ‘pau,’ 
and that he was married.” 

“O, 0,” gasped Lilinoe. “What did she do?” 

“She came back to me, but I would not receive 
her. I told her I could find plenty of girls. I didn’t 
need to take another man’s leavings.” 

He got up. He couldn’t finish the story, but Lili¬ 
noe knew the end. She remembered the pink flowers 
of the vine, and the sweet scented haw that covered 
the grave by the mountain. 

He picked up his line and baited his hook. 

“I’ve told you all, Lil,” he said, gently. “Go home 
and think of it.” 

Lilinoe did not go home. She sat on the slope of 
the mountain, looking far out into the blackness of the 
night. 

The waves were whispering their secrets of love 
on the beach. The perfume of love rose out of the 
flowers. Away in the distance she saw the small cot¬ 
tage, holy to her as a beautiful shrine. Yee Kui had 
just extinguished the light. Would this love bring 
her sorrow? Had she better crush it out of her life? 
How would it be possible? Could morning’s hand 
push back the light of a golden sunrise, bursting its 
way through Heaven’s gate? Iao had urged her to 
do it. 

Tom, like a big, strong brother, would say: 
“Leave it alone, Lil. Leave it alone.” 

Out of the darkness the spirit of the broken¬ 
hearted girl seemed to rise, pointing at her the finger 
of warning. 

Her soul accepted it all for the time, but in the 
morning the same lei of love was found at the door 
of the man from the coast. 












CHAPTER X. 


The Great Love Poem 

T he woman had told Arthur to keep silent for 
the next few days and on the third to go and 
meet the dawn. They were days of rest to him. 
His arm was not hurting, no one disturbed him. Yee 
Kui only came in occasionaly with some dainty or lei 
of sweet flowers from a nameless friend. In those 
two days of silence, he thought much. He was looking 
with straight eyes into a clean mirror, and a sense of 
shame was in his heart at what he saw. His Bible 
was beside him. He had been concentrating on the 
thirteenth of Corinthians, and the power of the beau¬ 
tiful words lifted him to the elevation St. Paul must 
have felt when he wrote his soul into the poem. 

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of 
angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding 
brass or a tinkling cymbal.” 

What other writer had interwoven his conscious¬ 
ness so strongly with the Christ that he could express 
so divinely an understanding of this love? 

Jesus had lived the power. He had asked for no 
record of his sayings. So far as the world knew He 
had written nothing except that writing in the sand 
about which so many differed in opinion. Yet in three 
years of selfless service, which asked no gain and no 
reward, He was able to light from the hills of little 
Nazareth a star of love, immortal, fadeless, beautiful. 

No wonder the one who followed after Him should 
wish to close the doors on an applauding world; a 
world attracted by magnetic power and personal 
charm. What were such things without the soul of 


86 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


the great teacher? “Sounding brass and tinkling 
cymbal.” 

Arthur remembered at one time in his life hear¬ 
ing two speakers. The first was world famed and 
gorgeously advertised. His language was cultured and 
beautiful—he had the ease and fluency of the orator 
—the platform appearance, and the far-reaching 
clarion voice. He sat down amidst ringing applause, 
but there seemed to be something missing in that won¬ 
derful address, though the closest critic could not per¬ 
haps have put his finger on a flaw. 

Then a small, plain, homely man of the church 
got up, to offer thanks. There was little in what he 
said, and his language was poor after that of the or¬ 
ator, but the love of the great soul went out like Lin¬ 
coln’s in his speech of Gettysburg. It reached the peo¬ 
ple like a warm handclasp on a cold but beautiful day, 
and possibly some of them at that moment realized 
that eloquence, even to the richness of an angel’s voice, 
could not atone if love were missing. 

“And though I have the gift of prophecy and un¬ 
derstand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though 
I have all faith so that I could remove mountains, and 
have not love, I am nothing.” 

He knew all the wonderful prophecies of the Bible, 
many of which were yet to come to pass. He had often 
thought of the great advantage of Saul, who, with 
everything in his favor, was made King over Israel, 
and last of all to the great joy of the people, the gift 
of prophecy fell upon him. 

Yet what did these things amount to when he 
broke away from God’s great love? Though he had 
the power to see into the Unseen, though he could un¬ 
ravel the riddle of life, though he had the wisdom of 
the sages, though he could read the very thoughts of 
the Eternal, without love he was nothing. 

“And though I bestow all my goods to feed the 
poor.” 


The Great Love Poem 


87 


He remembered all the baskets of food which had 
continually gone out from his home. He also remem¬ 
bered how with a regretful sigh, one very cold winter, 
when the curate had been to the house with stories of 
the poverty in the New York slums, his aunt had given 
up the thoughts of buying herself a set of new furs, 
and had handed the money over instead. He remem¬ 
bered her name being head of the collection book, and 
how a mention of her good deeds had been made from 
the pulpit. But was it the smiling face of love which 
prompted it? The words of Lowell swept his memory. 

“The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 

In what we share with another’s need. 

Not what we give, but what we share, 

For the gift without the giver is bare. 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three— 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.” 

“And though I give my body to be burned-” 

He thought of the thousands of martyrs at the 
stake who had sung songs of joy while the faggots 
crackled around them, and the blaze burnt away their 
eyes. 

Was it tenacity of opinion that made them un¬ 
willing to give up their religious views and suffer 
torture, even death, rather than lose a footstep of their 
ground? If so, to what effect? 

Faces of martyrs in history rose before him. 
Martyrs who gave their bodies with the sweet con¬ 
viction that though the mortal part of them might die, 
unconquerable love would lift them on its wings. 

Love could suffer gladly for the object of its love. 
Love was kind. 

How much of this unselfish kindness had he 
known? Never so much as he was knowing now. But 
then again, how much of this unselfish kindness had 
he given? 

He remembered all the clubs and societies con¬ 
nected with the church which once a week met in their 



88 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


home under the banner of “Love and Service to the 
World.” What was the subject of their conversation 
after the business end was settled ? Always the latest 
scandal, the ugly story, the stab at the one who dared 
to dance her life upon a broader floor than theirs. 

He thought of the cutting tongues, the cruel con¬ 
demnation in which he had joined mentally if not by 
word of mouth. But love could even suffer with all 
things and yet be kind. 

“Love envieth not, love vaunteth not itself, is not 
puffed up.” He tried to picture a world without envy, 
a world which was always wishing for another’s gain 
—not bragging of its own—a world where man, like 
good Ben Abhen, loving his fellow man, would head 
the list of those who love the Lord. 

“Does not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her 
own.” 

Health was his own. It was the jewel above all 
others he had longed to find. He had sought it from 
a little child, taking his medicine bravely, swallowing 
his pills, doing just what the doctor said, until now, 
weary of seeking, he was standing still and listening 
to the voice which whispered, “Seeketh not her own,” 
because no force in the Universe can keep her own 
away. 

“Is not easily provoked.” 

He had never known any great trouble, but he 
was sure if he had to meet one he could face it bravely, 
could go forth like a knight upon the path. It might 
be easier to face a full-armed giant than a cloud of 
tiny gnats and poisonous mosquitoes. But, great or 
small the obstacle, love’s understanding was too broad 
to be provoked. 

“Thinketh no evil.” 

In love’s sweet eyes all things must be divine and 
beautiful. Evil could not associate itself with love. 
So far as he knew he had not committed evil, but think¬ 
ing was a different thing. Would he have courage to 


The Great Love Poem 


89 


face each thought if they came out upon his wall in 
scarlet letters? He had never openly rejoiced in in¬ 
iquity, and when he knew the truth, was glad to wel¬ 
come it. But what was truth? Jesting Pilate had 
asked the unanswered question, and then gone on his 
way. The truth must be that there was good in every 
man—a spark of Heavenly flame which, fanned by 
love, would glow into immortal fires. 

Prophecy, tongues and knowledge would vanish 
away, but above even the shining stars of faith and 
hope the everlasting sun of love would hold the uni¬ 
verse within its everlasting arms. 

How far removed he seemed from such a love as 
this. Like the Pharisee he had wrapped his robes of 
self-righteousness around him, while he gave thanks 
that he was not like other men. 

Yet the Master to whom he prayed went down 
into the valley, to show the souls in darkness the way 
up to the heights. He ate with publicans and sinners— 
mixed with the rabble of the street—but by the sun¬ 
shine of his great and universal love, showed them the 
clear, white pathway to the throne of God. 

The repentant Magdalene came to Him weeping. 
She wept because she touched the shining aura of a 
power that she had always craved. She came recep¬ 
tive. She came with open heart and soul, and she 
washed His feet with her tears and wiped them with 
the hair of her head. The woman who had drunk life 
to the dregs. The woman outside the doors of the 
church—the woman at whom the world had pointed 
the finger of scorn, and yet the one about whom He 
said: 

“Her sins, which were many, are all forgiven— 
because she loved much” He did not see in her what 
the world saw. He looked beyond the rubbish and the 
refuse of her past. He saw her soul like the pure, 
white lily, coming up out of the mud and filth of the 
gutter—stainless and beautiful as angel’s wings, un- 


90 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


touched by earth. He saw the self-love lifted, the di¬ 
vine awakened in her, which made her weep at His 
feet and break her box of ointment to anoint His head. 
He saw in her the Mary who would stand by Him till 
the old condition was crossed out, and He saw in her 
the Mary who would give the tidings of His resurrec¬ 
tion to the world. 

All this His great love saw in her—and Simeon, 
with the spot on his own soul so marked that it re¬ 
flected on another—thought within, “If this man were 
what many think Him, He would not be taking the 
favors of a woman of the street/’ 

How gentle, how reproving the reply to those un¬ 
spoken words. 

“0, Simeon, when I came in here, what did you 
give me? Did you give me greeting? Did you give 
me love? Did you give me the holy kiss? No. But 
this woman, since I came in, has not ceased to kiss 
my feet. She has washed them with her tears. She 
has wiped them with the hair of her head. Therefore 
I say unto you, her sins, which were many, are all for¬ 
given, because she loved much.” 

What shall be done unto this woman? The cry 
was just the same today as it had been two thousand 
years ago. The stones in the condemners’ hands were 
just as sharp, the faces just as cruel. Yet above it all 
the same sweet voice, serene and calm, like the cool 
waters of a fountain rising amidst scenes of burning 
heat: “Neither do I condemn thee; go thy way, and 
sin no more.” 

He closed his eyes. A prayer for the realization 
of a love like this, rose from his starved and lonely 
heart. A love which could forgive iniquities, a love 
which could heal all diseases. 


CHAPTER XI. 


The Wanaao 

T he stars were shining above Kaihakala’s heights, 
shining like golden tapers over a mighty ca¬ 
thedral, when on the third morning after his ac¬ 
cident, Arthur was awakened by Lilinoe’s footstep and 
her soft voice calling him to come and meet the Dawn. 

He removed the bandage from his arm before 
he dressed, bathed it in warm water, and was sur¬ 
prised to feel the use of it again. 

A soft, cool wind blew through the branches of 
the iron-wood pines, carrying a delicious fragrance to¬ 
wards him, when he opened his door and stepped out 
on the lanai. 

The girl awaited him with her finger on her lips. 
There was something so sacred in that morning silence 
broken only by the music of the distant sea—some¬ 
thing so sweet and so mysterious, that he was glad 
he did not need to talk. 

He followed her over the dew-wet grass, moving 
like one moves through the enchantment of a lovely 
dream. He did not ask where they were going. He 
was conscious of a great happiness, a rest from fear, 
a light within, such as his darkened soul had never 
known. He knew that this was not connected with the 
girl—but in the unseen, where all God’s gifts are 
awaiting our acceptance, he had touched something 
more glorious than earthly wealth could buy. 

They followed the road in silence for some time, 
then Lilinoe stopped and grasped his hand. 

“Hush,” she intensely whispered. “The wanaao!” 
The darkness was slowly breaking round them like 


92 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


a fading mist. The trees stepped forth from chaos and 
outlined their lovely forms against the sky. On every 
side the mighty cliffs guarding the sea lifted their 
heads aloft. The scent of awakening flowers came 
riding towards them on the air. Out of the soft wet 
grass the tiny faces of the honohonos began to shine 
forth like Heaven tinged drops of dew: then suddenly 
in one unbroken chain of song, the voices of a thou¬ 
sand wakening birds broke forth in ecstasy of praise. 

Arthur was about to speak, but Lilinoe lifted her 
hand for silence. 

“Wait,” she whispered again, like one would whis¬ 
per on ground that was sacred, “the second dawn!” 

The light was growing brighter in the East. The 
trees were whispering greeting to each other. The 
scattered clouds became a blaze of fire. Rays of prim¬ 
rose painted themselves across the sky, making the 
great branches of the palms look black by vivid con¬ 
trast. A sudden wind blew strongly from the sea, 
shaking out nature’s garments in her morning call, 
whispering mysteriously through hidden caves, join¬ 
ing her voice with waves and waterfalls and songs 
of birds. Then clear and beautiful like the face of an 
angel smiling through a frame of gold, the sun shone 
forth in all her splendor, throwing aside the curtains 
of her bedroom, donning her brightest robes, blazing 
her trail across the waters, and enfolding the whole 
Island in the warm embrace of her great healing love. 

Lilinoe lifted her arms and eyes in blessing. She 
turned to the North, the South, the East and the West. 
She sent out her call to the gods of the sea and the 
wind. She gathered the power from the four corners 
of the earth. Power for the weak, health for the sick, 
youth for the aged, and life for the dying. 

Arthur stood spellbound while he listened. His 
whole being was responding to the gathered force, like 
the flowers were responding to the sun. He looked 
from right to left at the splendor of the scene. They 


The Wanaao 


93 


stood on the massive rock overhanging the sparkling 
sea. The waves were curling inwards, lovingly touch¬ 
ing the sand. Over the glistening leaves of the fields 
of sugar cane rose massive banks of ferns and flowers, 
trailing vines through which shining waterfalls, catch¬ 
ing the glory of the morning light, became transformed 
to rainbows of fire. 

Lifted out of himself by a force that almost over¬ 
whelmed him, he looked towards Lilinoe. She had for 
the time forgotten his presence. Unconscious of her 
beauty she was transfigured by power. Wrapped in 
the golden light of the morning she stood with the lei 
of flowers on her hair—flowers which seemed to have 
absorbed every color of the sunrise right into the cen¬ 
ter of their being. As he watched her bow to the earth 
in rapturous adoration, a current strong as electricity 
swept over him. It was startling in its sudden force. 
In moments such as these we make our great at-one- 
ment. It may be that we only touch the robe, but even 
when yet a great way off eternal love comes forth to 
meet us. 

She left him suddenly and walked to where the 
bell-flowers swung snow white, and on the vines the 
pink and purple kowali grew. She began to break 
away the leaves and fill her hands with the flowers. 
She went on her way without looking back, and he felt 
he need not to follow. 

He remained on the rocks until the light grew too 
dazzling for his eyes, then slowly he returned under 
the quiet shade of loving trees, cool and restful as the 
gentle clouds which pass over a dazzling sun. He 
wanted to be alone—to hold the splendor of the morn¬ 
ing to his soul. He wanted to draw a fence around 
this picture, and to hang it in the frame of memory 
where he might look on it forever. 

In such a world as this he had never until now 
opened the door to glories unrevealed. For twenty- 


94 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


five years he had been an invalid—starved in the land 
of plenty—hungered outside his father’s gates while 
love’s dear hand was on the latch longing to let him in. 


CHAPTER XII. 


“Confessions'” 

T he next day it rained heavily. Looking out upon 
the drenched landscape and sunless sky, it 
seemed almost impossible to believe that this 
scene of desolation was the glorious one of the day 
before. 

Arthur’s spirits corresponded with the weather. 
No longer on the crest of the wave, he had dropped 
suddenly from the elevation he had touched. He sat 
silent on the lanai, longing for companionship. The 
footlights had gone out from the transformation scene 
and only the cardboard remained. He felt as if it had 
all been a dream, an illusion, the beautiful dawn and 
gorgeous experience of yesterday. 

He was more than glad to see Lilinoe in the dis¬ 
tance. She came running barefooted, bareheaded, 
through the rain, and took her seat on the lanai under 
the dripping leaves of the vine. 

“You had better come in doors,” said Arthur, 
through the open window. 

“Why don’t you come out?” she asked, shaking 
the wet drops from her abundant curly hair. “It’s 
too close in the house and too depressing. Come out; 
let’s have the fun with nature we had yesterday.” 

“Oh, yesterday was different,” he replied. “The 
weather was beautiful.” 

“It’s just as beautiful today,” she answered. 

“O, no, it’s not,” he contradicted. “The rain is 
miserable and cold. Such heavy rain; it comes down 
like a cloudburst. They talk of a roaring wind, and 


96 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


a roaring fire, but the same comparison would suit 
this rain.” 

She laughed merrily, “Come out and get 
drenched,” she said. “Look at the flowers, the rain 
will put new varnish on their coats, and make them 
grow.” 

He never knew just how to take her, her change 
of moods was as aggravating as the climate. 

“You forget that I am sick,” he said. 

She looked at him with mischief twinkling in her 
eyes. “Oh, no, you are not,” she answered, “you went 
to greet the dawn.” 

The memory of it made his face look brighter. 

“The rain is over now,” she said. “It never lasts 
for long. Look at the sunshine.” 

The clouds had parted suddenly. Patches of blue 
sky appeared between them. Long silvery shafts of 
light descended downwards. “Come out,” she said 
again. “Come out on the lanai; let us talk.” 

Her tone was irresistible. He knew she would 
not come into the house, this child of nature and the 
out of doors. How wonderful to be so free. No fear 
of colds nor change of weather, growing with rains 
and storms and sunshine. He went and joined her on 
the lanai. 

“Let’s watch the change of scene,” she said. “The 
sun is building a new world out of the old.” 

“Making a new picture out of the same canvas,” 
he replied. “Look at those drifting clouds; would you 
believe a storm could pass so quickly?” 

“As quickly as your mood,” she answered. “You 
were so sad and so despondent. Why should we feel 
unhappy in this lovely world?” 

“Yes, why?” he questioned, as he looked across 
the scene in front of him, where brightened into splen¬ 
dor by the storm, the colors flashed like poems written 
by an angel’s pen of gold. “Why art thou cast down?” 


Confessions 


97 


the Psalmist asked his soul, and he was facing him¬ 
self with the question put forth centuries ago. 

“In one way/’ he said at last, “we are ungrate¬ 
ful mortals. To a certain extent you people of the 
Islands seem to have a greater conception of happiness 
than we.” 

“We live and love,” she answered. “That’s all 
there is to do, and so we are happy.” 

“Yes,” he responded, remembering how he had 
basked in St. Paul’s great poem. “The God love is 
everything, but the human love will bring you pain.” 

“I know it,” she responded, “but even so, we 
would rather have the pain than not have love.” 

He did not answer, his eyes were looking absently 
on the huge Mynah birds walking the long leaves of 
the banana trees, sunning their wet feathers in the 
returning warmth. 

“You have such lots to love,” she went on. “You 
must have loved so many times.” 

Had he? Again he saw his narrow, limited life 
as he had seen it the other day. He flushed slightly 
but threw off the embarrassment and met her on her 
own ground. 

“Pray, what about yourself?” he asked. 

Her merry laugh rang out, gladdening the heart 
of Yee Kui over his cooking in the kitchen. It was 
the laugh of love—the laugh of memory. 

“O, I’ve loved often,” she replied, “but not like I 
love you.” 

Had a thunder bolt fallen at his feet, Arthur could 
not have been more startled. Love him! It brought 
the blood surging to his face—this frank confession. 
He did not know exactly how to meet it, and he was 
glad when she continued: 

“I know we must seem strange to you, but we’re 
just people of the Islands, and if we love, we have to 
tell it—it hurts too badly if we don’t.” 


98 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


One of the natives passed while she was speaking. 
He called out a cheerful “Aloha” and showed his well 
set teeth in a happy smile. 

“Hush!” said Arthur, in a conventional whisper. 
“You must not be so free. That man could hear what 
you were saying.” 

“Why should we care?” she asked. 

“You white people are always so afraid, and want 
to keep these things a secret. Love should not be a 
secret. A secret is a thing of shame. 

“The sun blazes her love story on the earth. If 
she did not love the flowers they would not live. The 
birds sing out sometimes as if their throats would" 
break. If they did not love their lives they would 
not sing. Love is so beautiful—they want to give the 
world some of its power. Everything loves, or noth¬ 
ing would be living. If I love you, why should I crush 
it back until my heart is bursting? Love has to give 
expression. You may not love me, Arthur, but you 
never can prevent me loving you.” 

She spoke his name unconsciously, the name by 
which she always called him in her soul. It sounded 
pretty on her lips. He listened in amazement. He 
thought how his aunt’s back would have stiffened had 
she known of this. What food for conversation it would 
have furnished among the ladies in the drawing-room 
of their home. He recalled one story rooted deeply 
in his mind by its constant repetition. The story of 
a girl who had written the confession of her love to 
the man who idealized by distance, had made the sun¬ 
rise of her life. He remembered how he had figura¬ 
tively patted that man on the back when he heard that 
he had returned her letter, declaring it was incompre¬ 
hensible to him. No doubt it was—for love’s eyes 
must be very deep to comprehend the vastness of it3 
purity. 

“When you have gone away,” she went on, slow¬ 
ly— (Those words relieved his mind. She knew then 


Confessions 


99 


he would have to go. A sudden fear had filled his 
soul, that she might want to claim him then and 
there.) “When you have gone away, I shan’t forget 
you. I won’t want any other man. I’ll send my leis 
of love to you in thought across the sea, and when the 
stars come out I’ll sit upon the rocks where I first met 
you. I’ll ask the gods each night to bless you—when 
you have gone away.” 

Her eyes were full of poetry. It was her tone 
more than her words that struck his heart. 

When he had gone away! Yes, gone to what? 
He shuddered when he thought of any other land. 
When he thought of crossing the big, lonely waters, 
and meeting none on the other side. He saw the long, 
bleak, empty road in front of him—loveless—com¬ 
panionless —when he had gone away. 

Almost unconsciously he reached his hands to¬ 
ward her, and caught hers tightly in his own. 

“I am not going away yet, Lilinoe,” he said, gently. 
“Don’t let us speak of that. You say I have so many 
to love me—well, not so many but what I can appreci¬ 
ate your love. You have said right. Without love 
the flowers would not smile, the birds would not sing 
—the world would not be—and without love, how could 
we find God?” 

She came and sat down at his feet, clasping her 
hands on his. 

“You know so much,” she said. “I know so lit¬ 
tle. If I could find your God, maybe I would know 
more.” 

If she could find his God. What had he done to 
help her find Him? He had hugged his religion closely 
to his heart. No wonder it had given him so little 
comfort—when he had not shared it with another. 

“Did you never read the Bible, Lilinoe?” he asked. 

“O, no,” she said. “I never read. My mother said 
I learnt it quickly, but I never wanted books. Why do 
we need to read, when it’s all here?” She pointed to 


100 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


a thousand stories written in the colors of the sun¬ 
bathed land—in the mighty cliffs, and in the palms 
where the cocoanuts grew. 

“I guess the gods have given us enough; we don’t 
need books.” 

“Why do you talk of different gods?” he asked. 
“There is only one, who said, ‘Thou shalt have no 
other before me.’ ” 

He passed the Bible to her as he spoke, but she 
shook her head. 

“Don’t ask me to read that,” she said. “It’s too 
big and thick—it would take me far too long to under¬ 
stand.” 

She saw the look of disappointment on his face, 
and added: 

“You tell me all about it. I love to hear you talk.” 

He had never talked religion, even to his aunt, 
although she had always spoken of him as a good 
Christian boy. Her words were ringing in his ears 
now. If he were Christian, then he ought to give light 
to the darkness of this girl. 

She was sitting at his feet in expectation. Her 
eyes were riveted upon him. He cleared his throat 
and then repeated, “There is one God, and He knows 
all. All things belong to Him.” 

He opened the Bible while he spoke, and began 
in a dull monotone to read the story of creation. 

The girl listened, like she would have listened to 
one of the old legends of the Islands. Listened with 
mouth agape at the rapidity of movement. 

“Why, it was as quick as the work of the mene- 
hunes,” she said. “They were the fairies who built 
up a temple in a night. Little bits of fellows—just 
the length of my hand. They live in the woods and 
the hidden caves. They sleep among the ferns and 
up in the trees. When we were children we used to 
look for them among the bell-flowers.” 


Confessions 


101 


He gazed at her hopelessly, and then continued: 

“And God saw that it was good.” 

“I bet He did,” she interrupted. “I never heard 
of any work so quick. There was a time once on the 
Islands when nobody was sick, but everyone was 
happy, and they came here and lived forever. Often 
in dreams I see those times. I see an Island like it 
once was. No sorrow and no pain. I believe it will 
come true—this beautiful dream that comes in the 
deep sleep of the night, and sometimes in the early 
morning. I told it once to an old Kahuna. He could 
interpret dreams, and he asked what sleep I saw it in, 
and I told him in the sleep before the dawn, and again 
in the deep sleep of the night. He said that it was 
not a dream of the past, but a dream of something 
that was yet to come. Some day we shall have such 
a land. I know it, for the angels of the dawn have 
shown it me.” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. He was won¬ 
dering what next. 

“Christ came to heal the sick,” he said at last. 

“Christ? Who was He?” she asked. 

He closed his eyes in horror at the thought of 
heathen darkness such as this. 

“He was the Son of God,” he answered. 

“He healed the sick. He made the lame to walk.” 

“Then why didn’t He heal you?” she asked. 

He paused a moment, for the question struck right 
home. 

“That was two thousand years ago,” he answered. 

“Oh!” There was a world of pathos in the tone. 

“You must read,” he said, with real concern. 

“0, I know lots who healed the sick,” she an¬ 
swered. “The praying men and the old women did 
it, but they all died—all except one, and he sees no one 
—and there are some that even he can’t reach. I want 
someone who can heal the sick now. If that’s two 
thousand years ago, I don’t want to hear it.” 


102 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


They were silent for a moment. Then a long- 
drawn sobbing sigh broke from her lips. Her head 
dropped on her lap, her whole frame shook and her 
tears fell like rain from clouds long charged. 

“Why do you cry?” he asked, stirred to emotion 
by the immensity of her sobs. 

“Because there’s no one who can heal the sick,” she 
said. “They’re all dead—every one of them.” 

“But Christ still lives,” he answered, with a power 
which surprised him. 

A gleam of hope, like sunshine in a storm, lit up 
her face. 

The consciousness of life, so strong in the Hawaii- 
ans, made it quite possible to believe that those who 
knew its secret, like the ancients, could be upon the 
earth plane for two thousand years. Still, doubt was 
in her mind with the question: 

“Why did He never make you well? If He still 
lives, why don’t you go to Him and let Him heal you ?” 

“I do not know,” he answered, slowly. “Maybe 
I am too far away.” 

A cool wind made him shiver slightly, and with 
her usual thought she took the shawl from the back 
of his chair and bound it round his limbs. 

“I know the gods can live forever,” she said, 

gently. “And if He lives-” She paused a moment, 

looked around, and came a little closer. “I have some¬ 
thing I would like to tell you,” she continued. “No one 
knows, except, I sometimes think Ewaliko—though he 
never breathed it to me—but he listens for the voices 
in the night time, and the spirits of the winds have 
carried it to him. I have a brother—the one I told 
you about. My sole companion of the mountains— 
the child my father and my mother loved—and—that 
brother is a leper.” 

Arthur recalled the stories of the leper island 
and immediately imagined he was there. She did not 
give him time to question, but contiuued: 



Confessions 


103 


“I told you how we lived up on the mountan— 
how happy we were in our little home. Akana always 
loved me dearly. We never quarreled like some chil¬ 
dren. We went laughing, hand in hand, through life 
without a care. But when our father and our mother 
left us he felt lonely, and he begged to come down here 
to live. I did not want to come. I felt nearer to my 
dear ones on the mountains—it seemed as if the an- 
' gels walked with me upon the heights. I loved our 
little home where we had planted our garden, so near 
to the sunrise and the sunsets, and the rainbows— 
but I came down for his sake—and because it made him 
happy, I was satisfied to stay. 

“Boats came in once a week, bringing girls from 
the coast. A few came for the day with fancy things 
to sell, and went back the next morning. One of them 
stayed a week. She had blue eyes and golden hair. 
Akana had not met a woman with blue eyes. He never 
ceased to look at her—he called her his sweet goddess 
of the dawn. He wept when she set sail, and then 
of course he followed her to Honolulu. I did not try 
to prevent him. He would have been unhappy, and I 
wanted him to feel that he was free. 

“I watched the waves for his return. He never 
wrote—but I heard of him from men who came from 
Honolulu. They told me he was happy and that he 
was king of the beach at Waikiki—and everybody 
loved him. He was so tall, so strong, so handsome, 
and so kind. He taught the girls to surf-board and 
to play the ukulele. He went with them on hikes, and 
made the leis, and garlanded them with flowers. For 
seven long years he kept away, but I always knew he 
would return. I kept our little home for him up on 
the mountain—kept his canoe and all his little treas¬ 
ures—and one day he came back.” 

She stopped and laid her hand on Arthur’s arm. 

“How he got back I never knew, but every foot 
of the ground was known by him. He knew the under- 


104 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


ground routes no other man could travel. He came 
back to me by night, for they were hounding him. He 
came back—but he was a leper” 

She stopped again—so long this time that Arthur 
said: “Go on. I’ll try to help you.” 

“And then I hid him,” she continued. I hid him 
where no other man could find his whereabouts. I 
knew the secret hiding places of the past—the old 
Kahunas had shown them to me, for they had hidden 
many in the times of w T ar. 

“They came to seek him from the other Island, 
but when they heard no man had landed from the 
boats they went their way. 

“He scarcely had a stain or blemish, but they had 
branded him a leper. They wanted to take him to 
the Island where the men are like rotting leaves. Take 
Akana—my lovely brother—as strong and beautiful as 
the Hawaiian gods. I have hidden him until he gets 
his healing. There is a certain flower that grows high 
on the mountains—and it was shown to me one night 
in dreams. A flower like the one I gave you the time 
we met. You wondered why it did not die. It only 
dies shedding its blood for others. It could not die an¬ 
other way. It is the flower of life, and holds within 
its petals the lifeblood of a man who offered all he 
had in service.” 

“I remember,” Arthur said. “There was some¬ 
thing almost uncanny in that flower. It lived so long 
it frightened me. Sometimes I seemed to see it shining 
in the darkness, like a blood-red star.” 

“I always find it by its light,” she answered. 
“Dear little flower—it gives its life for love.” 

“It is a pretty legend,” he responded, “but how 
can its life help your brother?” 

“He crushes the oil out of its roots and rubs it 
on his scars. Each drop is drawn like lifeblood from 
its petals—all color leaves them, and they fall away 
and die.” 


Confessions 


105 


“And is it helping him?” 

“It must be,” she replied. “No life that gave it¬ 
self for love could be in vain.” 

That moment Arthur longed to find expression. 
He longed to tell her of that life of love and service, 
about which mentally he had known so long—but the 
soul consciousness of which, like the starved prodigal, 
was yet a great way off. 

She was kneeling in the attitude of prayer. Her 
strong appeal made him feel wretched. 

“How can I reach this One you tell about?” she 
asked. “How can I get His help to heal my brother?” 

“Believe on Him,” was all that he could say. 

“Do you believe?” she asked. 

“Of course I do.” 

“But yet you say that you are sick. Why did He 
never make you well?” 

He could not answer her. The ivhy was stand¬ 
ing out before him. 

“There's many things we can’t explain,” he said, 
“but if you read this book, which is His life, you will 
know all.” 

He had never felt so helpless, so ashamed. This 
girl that he had thought the heathen of the Islands, 
was asking questions that he could not meet. 


\ 








CHAPTER XIII 


The Soul’s Awakening 

L ilinoe found a quiet corner on the rocks, and 
eagerly began to read. To her the story known 
so well by him came with the freshness of a 
beautiful romance. With lively imagination she fol¬ 
lowed the pictures as vividly as if they had been flashed 
upon the screen. She saw in her surroundings on the 
beach, the little town where the young virgin lived, 
Mary must have felt the angels round her many times, 
and maybe heard the flutter of their wings: but, oh, 
the glorious astonishment to have one come into her 
home—to talk with one, and hear the message of her 
coming motherhood. That God was sending her a 
child whose name should be called Wonderful—Coun¬ 
sellor—The mighty God—The everlasting Father—The 
Prince of Peace—who would rise over the world like 
a shining star and of whose kingdom there should be 
no end. 

O, marvelous gift of love. Love which made an¬ 
gels sing with joy! In imagination she was carried 
away to the hills of Bethlehem, where in the calmness 
of the night the shepherds watched their flocks. Out 
of the star-strewn darkness she saw the light break 
like the golden sunrise—bursting the gates of Heaven 
apart—bearing the soul to earth upon the brilliance of 
its rays. 

The picture stepped forth vividly before her. 
Faces of angels smiled out of the sunset. Into her 
heart the joyous message of glad tidings crept—warm, 
overpowering, beautiful. She had to pause for a few 
moments—the glory of it was so great. 


108 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


The colors in the sky began to fade. The waves 
washed up the sand and wet her feet, but she did not 
notice. Only when one more powerful than the others 
splashed heavily across her lap, she receded a little— 
but still continued to read. 

The shining moon came up like a silver lamp. 
She walked towards her home, still reading, lighted her 
candle and sat down on the bed. 

Each character was alive to her, and found its 
double on the Island. 

In the old man Simeon, who had waited for th^ 
consolation of Israel, and to whom it had been revealed 
that he should not see death until he had seen the 
Lord Christ, she pictured the old Kahuna who had 
freed her from her bondage when a baby, especially 
when led by the spirit into the temple he took the child 
in his arms, and spoke the beautiful prophecy for the 
future. 

The old prophetess Anna, who lived in the temple 
and served God with fasting and with prayer, was just 
as real to her. Was not Tom’s grandmother the same? 
Did not she live on fruit and flowers and spend her 
time in praying for the sick? 

In the fishermen who left their nets in response 
to the call of the Great Teacher she saw the strong 
Hawaiians of the beach. The care-free life in the 
open, appealed to her. How beautiful to walk with 
Him among the corn—or to sit in the ship by the blue 
waters of the lake, and listen to His stories of field 
flowers that lived without a worry for tomorrow, and 
yet wore robes more gorgeous than a king’s. 

She went with Him up on the mountains, where 
He withdrew to be alone with the great power. How 
well she understood the rest and peace He must have 
felt, drawing so close to God in the great silence of 
the heights. One after another she followed the heal¬ 
ings. She saw the darkness of obsessing forces pass 


The Soul’s Awakening 


109 


away. She felt the touch upon her eyes like human 
fingers when the blind received their sight. 

He cleansed the leper. She could not see the page 
for tears. He even raised the dead—and at the sun¬ 
set hour, all came to Him, and all were healed. 

The wick of the candle fell and the light went out, 
but she did not regret it. Heavy, black clouds were 
banked before the moon, but her room was full of the 
golden glow which she had carried from the pages. 

She placed the Bible underneath her cheek and 
dropped down on the pillow. He healed them every 
one. He cleansed the leper. All was well. She had 
left her brother with Him in the sunset, and the eyes 
of love were fixed on him. 

^ I ’ - ^ 

m 

Next morning Arthur missed Lilinoe from the 
beach. She had gone up the mountain to read. Heights 
of silence, birds and flowers, fig trees and palms— 
were surely a fitting background for her story. Her 
whole soul was absorbed in the short but graphic de¬ 
scription of the storm at sea. She had known so many 
of those storms. Storms that rose out of nothingness, 
sweeping across the Island like the sudden anger of 
a giant roused from sleep. She saw the waves come 
up like mountains and throw themselves against the 
frail and trembling ship. Above the gale she heard 
the wild and agonizing cry of the desciples: “Lord, 
save us, or we perish.” 

Would He awaken to their need—He who had 
saved so many? Out of the wildness of the storm a 
voice was speaking. The wind was listening to its 
power. The waves, like armies weary of a fight, fell 
thankfully to rest. Darkness was rolled away by 
dawn’s white hand—and like a sea gull floating home¬ 
ward, she saw the ship with dripping sails glide to the 
shore. 

Then there was nothing impossible for Him to 
do. A field undreamed of opened to her in the promise, 


110 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I give 
unto you.” He had said, “Whatsoever.” She could 
ask for anything. The world was built anew. 

The reality of this grew stronger when she came 
to the prayer pulsating with the power of ages, “Our 
Father.” She read it many times. She claimed her 
unity with divinity at once. The gods that she had 
known were far away. They existed in the Heavens 
and ruled the earth and seas. She had called on them 
as mighty gods, but not one would she have dared ap¬ 
proach with that name which represented love. “Our 
Father.” “Our Father.” She repeated it again. She 
looked out over the beautiful Island, shining like a 
many colored jewel in the light. She saw men work¬ 
ing in the fields of sugar cane—hoers and tillers of 
the ground. Down at the wharf where the weekly 
boat had just come in, strong young Hawaiians lifted 
and unloaded heavy freight. The fishermen were 
throwing in their nets and wading out into the sea. 
A little Jap mother toiled up the dusty hill with a baby 
on her hip and three small children clinging to her 
skirts. The Chinese cook was standing in the door¬ 
way of the small shack which represented restaurant 
and hotel. All these were given the right to call Him 
Father, and approach Him as a God of love. 

“Which art in Heaven.” 

She had known of that beautiful region they 
called “Wakea,” where she believed her loved ones 
were. She had got the glimpse of it in visions—but 
this new Heaven was not so far away. She drew it 
with the warm blue sky around her—this Heaven of 
love in which the Father dwelt. 

“Hallowed be Thy name.” 

She bowed her head in holy reverence. She paused 
like one might do on sacred ground—for the power of 
that great name had dawned upon her in the “What¬ 
soever ye shall ask in my name.” 


The Soul’s Awakening 


111 


“Thy Kingdom come.” 

His Kingdom. The Kingdom of a God of Love. 
What would it mean if such a Kingdom came? It 
would mean there would be no more war, for Love 
could never fight its brother. 

It would mean there would be no more sickness, 
for Love could never see its loved one suffer. No beat¬ 
ing tempests, and no storms at sea. No quarreling 
—no jealousy—no striving for the bigger gain—no 
cruelties—no unkind words. This must have been the 
vision that the old Kahuna saw. She would pray each 
day, “Thy Kingdom come. 

“Thy will be done on earth, as it is done in Heaven.” 

How easy to do the will of Love, since whatsoever 
Love designed must only be for good. Earth and 
Heaven would then become as one—united like the 
colors in a sunrise. 

“Give us this day our daily bread.” Her daily 
needs had always been supplied—for she had never 
doubted. Then He would give all other things if she 
believed. 

t — ... *i 

“And forgive us our trespasses.” 1 * ' 

She said the words like a repentant child, for in 
the sight of Love she must have erred a thousand 
times, but just as quickly been forgiven. 

“As we forgive them that trespass against us.” 

Her eyes became suffused with tears. Her mind 
went to the lonely cave, the walls of which were hiding 
one she held so dear. She thought of all that he had 
borne from men of other races. Men who were jealous 
of his strength and power. Men who, enjoying his 
care-free spirit, kind, unselfish ways, and winning per¬ 
sonality had torn his heart to pieces by their cruelty. 
Mocked at his colored blood—trampled his soul be¬ 
neath their feet—and thankful at last to find a spot 


112 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


to which they could point, were rejoicing now to know 
the hounds were on his track. 

Could she forgive them? Through ages past the 
voice of Love eternal whispered to her soul, “They 
know not what they do.” 

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us 
from evil.” 

She had been taught to believe in evil forces— 
wandering souls, which had the power to follow and to 
torture. Which came in the darkness of the night 
and often in the daytime. She thought of those who 
had been prayed to death—good people—some of them 
—but with no power to resist. She remembered one 
young girl who had rushed to her for refuge. Her 
jealous lover had gone to the praying men to have her 
prayed out of the body, sooner than see her married 
to another man. She saw again the terrified eyes and 
the trembling hands as she watched for the coming of 
the darkness—knowing that when the first star 
blinked, her end had come. 

She remembered how she too had felt the force 
sent out—and how helpless she was to ward it off. 
The girl had died before the darkness fell. 0, had she 
known of this great God of Love she would have 
broken every other power by the white magic of “De¬ 
liver us from evil.” 

A thrill of joy went through her at the positive 
end of the prayer. 

“For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and 
the glory —forever and every 

Then there was no doubt about it. His kingdom 
—His power—His glory, remained with them always. 
She raised her eyes—rested her elbows on her knees, 
and dropped her chin upon her hands. 

Her reverie was broken by the sound of gentle 
music, coming like notes of birds through distant trees. 


The Soul’s Awakening 


113 


Ewaliko was walking towards her. His sensitive 
nature had touched the power, and he came like a little 
child, and sat down on the grass at her feet. She 
took his hand in hers and gazed into his eyes. 

“Ewaliko, I have found something beautiful,” she 
said. He looked at the Bible lying on the grass. He 
could see the aura shining round it like rays from a 
golden sun. 

“I know,” he answered, slowly. “I found that 
jewel long ago—but it’s too bright for me to wear.” 

He laid his head down on her lap just like a tired 
baby. 

“I don’t need another sunrise, when you are here 
to shine on me,” he said. 

Her hands played with his curly hair, like the 
hands of a strong and loving mother. 

“But, Ewaliko,” she said, gently, “this is a sun¬ 
rise you have never seen. This sun arises in the heart.” 

He smiled, but quickly grasped her meaning. 

“Then I should never feel the cold nor see the 
darkness.” 

“No,” she responded, in a voice of triumph, “there 
could be no more darkness for you—where light for¬ 
ever shines.” 

She knew he was resting—for his features often 
so distraught with fear were calm and still. 

It was a joyous thought that she need worry over 
him no more. She need not try to keep him on the 
mountain and watch to see if all were kind to him. 
He was protected by a God of love, who would deliver 
him from evil. 

He got her thought—he raised his head—his eyes 
smiled into hers again. 

“I know,” he said. “I know there’s One who walks 
in that bright light. Sometimes when I am very still 
He comes and speaks right through my music. Some- 


114 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


times He talks with me. He always comes when I’m 
most lonely. I lose Him in the crowd down there. I 
cannot even hear the rustle of His garments. Some 
time, maybe I’ll see His face.” 

He walked away while he was speaking—taking 
the fern strewn path through falling clouds which 
dropped on every side of him like sun-tipped wings of 
guardian angels. 

* * ❖ sis ❖ 

The day wore on. Lilinoe did not need to eat. 
Like the woman of Samaria, she had forgotten the 
well from which she had been drawing. With eyes 
alight with faith she passed through the garden of 
Gethsemane. She stood with Mary by the cross, hold¬ 
ing the power through the darkness—until with His 
own lips He had declared it finished. 

But was it finished? Only the old condition. 
He had said, “I shall rise again.” She held aloft His 
promise. The tears were raining down her cheeks. 
The darkness of the tomb might hide His glory, like 
the clouds for a few moments hid the sun—but only 
would it shine the brighter when the mist was swept 
away. 

And Mary—whom much He had forgiven—Mary 
at whom Simeon had pointed the finger of scorn. 
Mary—the Magdalene—the former sinner—was the 
first to give the news of His resurrection to the world. 

She seemed to hear the shouts of victory. She 
stopped. The Island was a blaze of light—earth—sea 
—sky, and trees and flowers drifted into one great 
ball of brilliant light—out of which stepped the form 
of love and beauty—with hands reached out in bless¬ 
ing for the world. He lived. Her brother could be 
healed. She never doubted it. She only had to call 
the power. 

* * * ❖ * 


The Soul’s Awakening 


115 


She slept out in the star-light and awoke with the 
first dawn. What a night it had been—what an awak¬ 
ening! A new incarnation. The old self with its con¬ 
tinual cry for human love was lifted up on shining 
wings—into the vastness of a love in which all others 
faded like the light of suns and stars in the great 
blaze of Heaven’s glory. 

No heart aches now. No torn emotions. No sep¬ 
aration from the loved ones. No fear that love would 
pass away. One wish alone she had—to live with such 
a love as this—to live and serve. 

v*. 

m m m «« 

With the light of triumph shining in her eyes— 
eager as Mary Magdalene to give the news of the res¬ 
urrection—she ran down the mountain. Never had 
her bare feet gone so swiftly over the heavy stones. 

Arthur was almost startled as she rushed towards 
him. The power that she had gathered on the heights 
had robed her with a glory visible even to his holden 
eyes. 

“Arthur, He lives,” she cried as she held out her 
hands toward him. “He lives—He lives—so why 
should you be sick?” 

He sought for explanation by throwing the blame 

upon another. 

“It is the will of God,” he said. 

“No—it is not,” she answered, strongly. “The 
book you gave me did not tell me that —and you said 
that you believed it all. If you believe it all, then how 
can you be sick?” 

He did not want to say another thing to shatter 
her faith. He was glad when she began to talk about 
her brother. It was much easier to believe these truths 
for him. 

“My brother will be well,” she said. “He will be 
well—dear, dear Akana. I seem to see those hands 
of love upon his scars. Those hands which touched 



116 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


blind eyes—and made them see. Arthur it is so beau¬ 
tiful. Why did you never tell me this before ?” 

A sense of shame came over him at his ingratitude 
and gross neglect. Like a miser with his locked-up 
gold, he had lived in a land where people starved for 
want of what he could have given. 

“Akana will be well,” she said again, “but you 
must come with me to see him. You must tell him all. 
You must tell him of this Christ, the healer. You can 
tell it in such lovely words. You have known Him so 
much longer than I have.” 

Had he known Him so much longer? There are 
some we know when we first meet them. Others we 
know all our lives—but never know. He had known 
his Bible—clung to it for his salvation in another 
world. Known the characetr of the man Jesus—but 
never known the Christ this girl had touched. 

“And we shall see our Island as I saw it in the 
dream,” she happily continued. “Only ten thousand 
times better—because we’ve found the One the fishers 
left their nets to follow.” 

Perhaps he caught the vision with her; the vision 
of a perfect world. Could he refuse to be a link in 
forming that great chain of love? Could he refuse 
the leper’s call? He could not say those things were 
meant for a world two thousand years ago. The same 
world lived today. The lepers still were here. If he 
were true to his religion, he must stand for it now. 

“Lilinoe,” he said with an effort, “I will go with 
you to where your brother is. If it should cost my 
life, I’ll do it. I have lived within the covers of my 
Bible all my days, but yet have never known it like 
you do. I have read His promises without, the great 
belief which made me claim them. I had to come into 
what I thought your heathen darkness before I gained 
the light. You have asked my help to cleanse the leper 
—I cartnot in His name refuse.” 


The Soul’s Awakening 


117 


He walked back to the cottage as he spoke. He 
closed the door, and kneeling like a little child beside 
his bed—he poured forth his whole soul in prayer. 
















CHAPTER XIV. 


The Journey to the Cave 

T he night was ideal when they started for the 
cave. The moon was big and gold. Sea and sky 
were a warm blaze of light. The atmosphere 
was kissed by the scent of a thousand flowers. Every¬ 
thing was still as it had been before the break of dawn. 

Lilinoe’s face was triumphant with a certainty 
of victory—and Arthur felt himself gain strength by 
treading in her footsteps, though his courage had al¬ 
most failed him when he saw the rugged cliffs and 
dizzy heights they must ascend—and then descend be¬ 
fore they reached the cave. 

She got the quick impression of his fear and took 
his hand in hers. 

“I know the way and you do not,” she said, with 
that sweet love which is the chief note of Hawaiian 
utterance. “You trust to me—I will not let you fall.” 

Her assurance was his inspiration. Scaling the 
rocks in front of him, watching his every footstep— 
with the golden flowers wreathed on her hair, like a 
crown of fallen stars, she looked like some wonderful 
spirit of the moonlight, dropped from the sky to guide 
a soul to Heaven. 

His heart was beating fast. His breath came 
quickly. One false step on that dizzy height and they 
would be hurled into the blackness of the great abyss. 

She seemed to sense his every fear and was al¬ 
ways ready with a soothing word. He got the power 
of the vibration even if those words were spoken in a 
language that he could not understand. He kept his 
eyes upon her like a mariner on a guiding star. 


120 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


He did not dare to look back for a moment—but 
more than once he felt peculiarly sensitive that some¬ 
one was behind them—someone who knew the ground 
as well as his guide—who crept beneath the rocks and 
rugged stones—lifting his head occasionally to make 
sure of their track. 

They ascended the highest point and looked down 
on the sea. Bathed in the moonlight the scene was 
wildly desolate. Legend and history wrote itself on 
every rock outlined against the landscape. The tide 
was coming in with the force of a Kamahamaha’s 
army. It seemed as if the voices of the past were 
shouting through the booming billows as they roared 
into the hidden caves and beat their power out on the 
cliffs, throwing their spray aloft like shining foun¬ 
tains, turned by the moon’s bright rays to showers of 
gold. The girl did not suggest that he was tired, or 
would like to rest. The night was very short—much 
was to be accomplished before dawn. 

They gained the other side of the sand—and 
climbing over a ridge entered one of those wild forests 
of nature where human foot has seldom trodden, and 
where “many a flower is born to blush unseen.” 

“This is the only way that we can reach the cave,” 
she whispered. “The passage underground would be 
too difficult for you. No trail has been cut here and 
I do not want to cut one—but if you hold my hand 
you will not lose the way.” 

She had no need to give him such a warning. 
He held to her like a man to the mast of a ship in a 
storm, as they fought their way through the unspoiled 
tropical jungle where nature had had her own sweet 
will to freely indulge her unimited extravagance. Up 
hill and down hill they went—over rocks and stones 
—through narrow passages where moss grown heights 
shut out the light of the moon—and down which water¬ 
falls roared like thunder. Wading through babbling 
streams, through grasses high as wheat—catching 


The Journey to the Cave 


121 


their feet in snares of serpent-like vines—tangles of 
ferns—and prickly bushes. 

Like cold slabs of marble the long leaves of the 
banana trees rubbed against their faces—and ghostly 
in the weird light the long leaves of the laulima, 
stretched their many hands overhead. 

Every turn seemed to bring out some new won¬ 
der in this uncut wilderness of beauty. Here and 
there a wild garden of red and white lilies flashed 
out amidst a network of tangled grass, mingling their 
scent with the fragrance of roses—and their bright¬ 
ness with the silvery foliage of the kukui. 

Onwards — onwards — through the smothering 
abundance of nature, until gaining a slippery height, 
the soil gave way beneath their feet and they began 
to slip downwards, rather than walk. 

Arthur had never tobogganed, but he had watched 
the boys many times in the winter when the ice was 
thick on the hill near their home. He had often won¬ 
dered what such a sensation would be like—but he 
would never need to wonder again. 

Slipping and sliding they descended the hill—the 
girl laughing as merrily as the rosy-cheeked children 
out in the snow of the East. 

He was beginning to wish this experience would 
end, when suddenly their feet touched the ground, and 
they stood surrounded by fern-draped, flower-grown 
walls, in one of the grandest conservatories that na¬ 
ture’s artistic hand ever laid out. 

So lonely—so weirdly desolate—yet with it all so 
beautiful—it might have been built as a secret hiding 
place for the gods—where unhampered and secure they 
could work their silent wonders for the universe. 

The beauty of the scene was shut out from above 
by a leafy roof of trees, through the delicate lace-work 
of which, the moonlight fell in showers of gold—danc¬ 
ing across the thick carpet of leaves like little golden 
crowned fairies, and glittering in shining beams upon 



122 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


the deep pool of silvery water—white as the driven 
snow. 

“He is in there,” she whispered, pointing to the 
vine-twined overhanging rocks which hid the entrance 
to the cave. “To reach him we must swim under the 
ledge.” 

“Only I cannot swim,” he said, “and the water is 
cold. Can’t he come out to us?” 

She shook her head. “The moonlight is too 
bright,” she answered. “When it is dark he steals 
into the forest and gathers fruit, and goes down to 
the beach to bathe. But there is one other way to 
reach him, and we can take it—follow me.” 

It needed all his courage to do so, but she was 
holding his hand again in that firm, warm grip—gen¬ 
tle, yet compelling obedience. They climbed a few 
more rocks and then paused by one bigger and more 
mighty than the others. She stooped low and divided 
fern and bushwood, cutting away the vines with her 
grass hook, until a hidden hole disclosed the subter¬ 
ranean passage. Bending almost to earth, she crept 
in like a rabbit, and instinctively he followed. The 
ferns and trees swung back and closed the entrance. 
Out of the golden moonlight the blackness was dense 
before his eyes. It seemed as if he were buried in a 
grave. A fear such as he had never known gripped 
his heart, and for a moment he lost confidence in his 
guide. How did he know but what this was a trap? 

“Have you no light?” he asked, abruptly. “Where 
are you taking me? How can I see in this Egyptian 
darkness? I did not expect that it would be like this.” 

“Hush!” she said, gently. “I know the way. Hold 
to my hand and you cannot fall.” 

His eyes began to grow accustomed to the dark¬ 
ness. Away down the awful stairway formed of jut¬ 
ting rock, he could see a dim light from the other en¬ 
trance—and the shining gleam of moonlit water. It 
was almost more ghostly than the darkness—yet it 


The Journey to the Cave 


123 


brought with it a gleam of hope—that out of this liv¬ 
ing grave, there was a way. 

“Don't be afraid," she said again. “This is the 
only means by which we can reach him, if you cannot 
swim." 

“It's terribly dangerous," he answered. “One 
slip-" 

Her laugh rang through the rock and hollows, 
awakening echoes hitherto unknown. 

“Only, you could not slip, when I have hold of 
you," she said. 

Her words brought in a flash a scene long ago 
forgotten, which came with a new light to him now. 
In memory he was carried from the darkness of his 
surroundings to one of those sudden snowstorms in 
Wisconsin. Through the whirling flakes and blinding 
wind, the milkman had come to their door to deliver 
the milk. His little boy sat in the cart, muffled to the 
ears against the storm. He remembered how his Aunt, 
with her usual benevolence, knowing the rough road 
they had to travel, had asked the child: 

“Would you like to stay with us until the morn¬ 
ing? Are not you afraid of the storm and the dark?" 

Looking through the window he saw the smile on 
the child's face as he answered: “No—not afraid—- 
father knows the way." 

The memory of this somehow gave him strength. 
The faith of the little child entered his soul with a 
beautiful sense of security and peace. Unconsciously 
he found himself repeating: “The darkness and the 
light are both alike to Thee." 

The path began to grow a little easier. The over¬ 
hanging rocks were not so close. Once able to lift his 
head and stand erect, he felt the power. He rejoiced 
in this victory over fear—small though it might have 
seemed to many, yet great to his undeveloped soul. 

The jutting rocks had almost cut his shoes to 
pieces. His clothes were torn and his hands scratched 



124 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


—but he had scarcely noticed it in his great desire to 
get out of this living grave. 

They reached the end sooner than he had hoped 
—climbed the rocks above the water, and passing 
through a flower-grown arch, entered the cave. 

The room was long and winding—stretching far 
back into the mountain. Ferns in abundance grew 
out of the walls and ceiling. The heavy ledges were 
moss-grown and green. On one of these ledges which 
jutted out from the wall and formed a lofty throne 
—a man was sitting. He had lighted a torch of dry 
lahala and the weird glow shone red across the floor 
and ceiling—and blazed on his handsome young face 
and powerful limbs. He looked like a mighty god of 
strength and power—born to hold the throne of the 
Island instead of the stony seat of a hidden cave. 

The girl rushed up to him and throwing her arms 
about his neck, she kissed him on the lips and eyes. 

“Akana,” she cried, gladly. “You are going to be 
well. It is wonderful—so wonderful. Too wonderful 
for me to tell you—so I had to bring the one who knows 
the story—here/' 


CHAPTER XV. 


The Leper 

A rthur sat down upon the stones. Hurt and 
bruised, with his limbs aching from the long 
walk, he felt it was he who needed the physician, 
not this strong young monarch on the throne. 

“To make me well, ,, the bitter voice spoke through 
the darkness. 

“To make me well. Who is there could do that? 
If the gods could have granted me deliverance, surely 
they would have done it long ago.” 

He broke off with a sob which echoed through the 
cave. There was something so heart-rending in it 
that it stirred the listener to the soul in a desire to help 
this powerful young man to escape from the dreadful 
disease. 

“But Akana, it’s true,” the girl said, nothing 
daunted. 

“There is so much to tell you—but he’ll tell it all. 
Let him sit here, and talk, while I gather the fruits 
for you upon the mountain.” 

“Did you bring the flowers of the heights, and the 
wanaao?” he asked, like one who had not noticed what 
she said. 

“You don’t need them any more,” she answered. 
“You will not want them when you hear what he has 
to tell.” 

She kissed him again and slipped out of the cave 
—making a dive into the shining waters. They could 
hear her softly singing as she swam to shore. 

“The first time she has sung for months,” the 
young man said. “She used to have a voice like a bird. 


126 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


We always sang together on the mountains, before I 
went away, and all this came.” 

The light of the torch went out while he was 
speaking, and he stretched his strong young arms in 
the darkness. 

“Come out of here,” he said. “I want you to see 
the moon and stars—I am tired of this bondage—and 
it is no place for you.” 

Arthur had no desire to move, knowing the only 
exit could be made through the dark passage or else 
by water that he could not swim. 

“I thought you were in hiding,” he said, gently. 
“Hadn’t you better stay just where you are?” 

“I know—but sometimes I get reckless,” he re¬ 
plied. “But for my sister it would not matter if they 
found me. Aren’t you afraid of the disease?” 

The terror of the trip had wiped out every thought 
of it. 

“I believe it can be healed,” he answered, remem¬ 
bering the mission which had brought him there. 

The man laughed harshly in the darkness. “Yes 
—so she thinks, dear girl,” he said. “She gets the 
healing flowers from the mountains. She prays to all 
her gods to help me. She comes here every day and 
holds the secret of my whereabouts. 0, but for her 
—I’d quit the game and let them take me. What did 
she bring you here for?” He asked the question sud¬ 
denly. 

“She thought that I could help you,” Arthur an¬ 
swered. 

“How?” 

He was so long in finding a reply that the Hawaii¬ 
an thought he had not heard and asked again: “How 
can you help me? What do you know? Maybe you 
are just a spy sent from the coast—and have made 
her the goat to find my whereabouts.” 



The Leper 


127 


“No,” answered Arthur with conviction. “Believe 
me—I’m no spy—I want to help you, but it’s hard to 
make you understand.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I am not sure myself.” 

“Then don’t tell things you are not sure of that 
would do no good. You’re from the coast. Maybe you 
have traveled far. Tell me of things in other lands. 
I’ve always wanted to travel, I’d planned to go to 
other countries—I’d got it all arranged when all this 
came.” 

“How did you find it out?” 

“They found it out for me. I left our little home 
seven years ago. Somehow I wanted different things 
from what we had. The men came from the city. 
They told me of the things that are over there. Girls 
came with different colored eyes and hair, from those 
who live amongst us. I always thought my sister had 
the prettiest face in all the world—but then you know 
she was my sister. I liked eyes like the sky at noon¬ 
day, and hair just like the gold you see in the sunrise. 
I went to Waikiki and found them. But pretty eyes 
and faces hide a heart that’s often shallow. I got work 
quickly and made money—spent it all—had lots of fun. 

“No boy could ride a surf-board like I rode it 
—even if I say it myself. The blue-eyed girls were 
all in love with me. I spent my time teaching them 
surf-board, making leis for them, and teaching them 
to ride. They went back to the coast—and wrote me 
letters. 

“Of course their parents never knew. Folks from 
the coast can do most what they like at Waikiki—but 
when they get back to their homes it’s different. The 
boys grew jealous of me. Maybe I was too popular 
—I don’t know. They had it in for me in lots of ways. 
It seems I’d taken one fellow’s girl. I told him he 


128 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


could have the rest of them, but I wanted that girl— 
with eyes like a sunny morning. She liked me, too— 
liked me far better than she liked him—but he was 
from the coast. He had no colored blood.” He stopped 
a moment. “God,” he said, bitterly, “how I prayed 
for a white face. She told me that she loved me—but 
she could not marry me—because she wanted a child 
—she could not nurse a colored baby—and I told her 
that was not love. I did not blame her for not wanting 
a Hawaiian. None of them do when it comes down 
to marriage. They’ll take all that you’ll give them in 
the way of pleasure, but when it comes to mixing of 
blood, it is different. 

“The other boy who wanted her got jealous. He 
was tall and blonde, like she was, always dressed well, 
and had pink fingernails. I had not his manners nor 
elegant appearance, but I had the strength of the 
Hawaiian, and he knew it. 

“He and the other fellows had it in for me. I did 
not want to fight. I knew I could lick the whole bunch 
with a single hand. They were only like a lot of pup¬ 
pets in a show, to me. But of course it had to come, 
and it came just when I did not want it. 

“I was on the beach with her. You know the 
beach at Waikiki—when the moon is big and full and 
the waves come washing over the sand—when there’s 
music and song, and everyone is happy. It was a 
shame to fight, but I had to do it. 

“Of course I licked them all and she was proud of 
me. She was nearer to me then than she had ever 
been. I remember how she put her little hand in mine. 
(She had such tiny hands—just like a doll’s. I was so 
big and strong beside her.) And she said: ‘Akana, 
I would rather be a man with colored blood, and brave 
and strong like you, than I would be those young dan¬ 
dies—who had to run away.’ 


The Leper 


129 


“It made me happy, I can tell you. The victory 
of the fight was nothing—I hadn’t shown my strength 
one-quarter. I had enough to face an army. I did 
not call that fighting, and I told her so. It was only 
like one might have whipped some troublesome dogs 
that had been barking after you. 

“But they were not through with me, and I knew 
it. The next day came—the next, and next. The girl 
did not come to meet me by the water. I saw her 
once upon the beach, and she nodded coolly to me— 
and went on her way. Bit by bit they got it noised 
abroad I was a leper. I did not believe it—God—had 
I known—would I have touched her hand? It came to 
me like a bolt out of a clear sky—the marks you can’t 
see in the darkness—yes—and the expression of my 
face. 

“They came in a great body to arrest me. They 
knew my strength, for they had seen me in the fight. 
They took me to some specialist, who claimed that it 
was true. They were going to send me over to the 
Island. They shut me in quarantine until the time, 
but I fooled them, as you see. I got away. They have 
never known yet how I did it. We natives have a 
knowledge of the land that fools the white man every 
time. I came back to the ground where I was born— 
I came back to the sister that I had neglected. It 
seems like prison in this cave—but yet it’s my own 
land—and it is home.” 

Arthur was helpless as to what to say. A prayer 
such as he had never prayed rose to his lips. 

“I have a book that I could lend you,” he sug¬ 
gested. 

The young man answered something like his sis¬ 
ter. 

“I never want to read. I like real things—the 
things that live—not things that men make up. Be¬ 
sides, I could not see in here. I climb upon the over- 


130 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


hanging rocks each morning and look into the pool. 
The water is so clear—so luminous, and bright. 

“I watch the pictures in it—not reflections—pic¬ 
tures of other lands that come and go. I travel there, 
and I forget my sickness—I see myself just like I 
ought to be—just like I was before-” 

“Just like you will be,” Arthur found himself say¬ 
ing. The voice that spoke was his own—and yet it 
did not seem his own—but the conviction struck right 
home. 

“Did you say that?” the young man asked. 

“Yes,” answered Arthur, slowly. 

“It sounded like the voices that I hear sometimes. 
This place is full of spooks—and voices. Gee—If we 
only had a light!” 

“I believe you will be well,” he said again. “There 
is One who can make you so.” 

“And where is He?” 

Arthur cleared his throat. 

“Did you never hear of Christ?” he asked. 

“0, many a time!” The note of disappointment 
in the voice was deep. “They used to talk about Him 
in the churches when they got up and told us how to 
die. I went to church sometimes in Honolulu. I liked 
the music—not the talk. I guess you’re one of those 
good people—maybe that’s why you’ve come to me.” 

“No,” answered Arthur, “if I were, I’d make it 
plainer to you.” 

He paused a moment. The dampness of the cave 
brought on a fit of coughing. 

“You don’t seem extra well, yourself,” Akana 
said. “It’s bad to have a cough like that.” 

“I haven’t been well,” Arthur answered, “but I’m 
getting better now.” Again he did not seem to voice 
the words. Someone seemed to be speaking through 
his lips. “I think He’s healing me.” 

“Who’s healing you? This fellow you call Christ?” 




The Leper 


131 


“Yes/’ Arthur said, with positive conviction. “I 
know that He can make me well.” 

“Tell me about Him. I went once to a picture 
show in Honolulu, and they put His picture on the 
screen. Nice looking guy—but not like us. He wore 
clothes like a woman.” 

Considering the consciousness he had to deal with, 
Arthur tried not to appear shocked. 

“Where is He now?” Akana asked. 

“He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth at the right 
hand of God the Father,” Arthur answered, repeating 
word by word the church service he had known from 
boyhood up. 

“Into Heaven? That’s not much good to me, and 
as for God you call the Father, I’ve got no use for Him. 
He’s made a pretty bungle of my life.” 

“O, hush!” said Arthur, really pained at such ex¬ 
pression. “You must not talk like that.” 

“Why not?” Akana asked. “They told me that 
there was one God—those fellows who stand before 
that big book which I could not read in a whole lifetime 
—and those that fight with drums and tambourines at 
the street corners. I listened to them, and they wanted 

to-what do you call it—? To convert me. I did not 

follow all they said. I tell you that I have no use for 
any God that puts a fellow into flames, because he 
wants to live his life the way he wants to. I’ve not 
been a bad fellow on the whole. I know I’ve made 
some slips—but if I thought a God away in Heaven 
had sent this suffering to me, because I hadn’t done 
just what He ordered—I tell you, I would fight it. 

“That’s not the kind of God I want—and I don’t 
believe that any God who made this lovely world for 
us to live and love in—I don’t believe that such a God 
would wish that anyone should suffer. I’ve got my 
picture of a God—but not, I guess, the one you have. 
My God is like my father. I was full of mischief when 



132 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


I was a kid. What boy with pep in him is not? There 
was no harm in me—my father knew it, though he 
gave me many a licking—never to hurt, but just to 
make me mind. 

“Maybe my sister told you how we lived in the 
grass hut up on the mountain. We hadn't much in 
that grass hut—only a few things that my father 
made, like chairs and tables cut out of the trees—and 
a few treasures that my mother saved of ancestors 
long past. 

“One day my father brought a box of matches 
home. We had never seen matches. We hadn't any 
use for lights—we went to bed when darkness fell, 
and got up with the dawn. I remember how my father 
struck one of those matches—and how we laughed to 
see the cunning little blaze. Then how he put them 
in a box—and told us not to touch them. I was a lad 
full of mischief, and when his back was turned, I 
went straight for the box. I didn't know the danger 
of the blaze until the grass of our small hut caught 
fire and the roof was burning overhead. I tried to put 
it out, but it had spread too quickly—and frightened 
at the deed I'd done, I rushed into the woods to hide. 

“My mother and my sister were gathering berries 
down the mountain. My father saw the blaze in the 
distance and came rushing back, hoping to save the 
home. He and my mother fought the flames—but they 
had got too big a hold—the hut burnt down and all 
that we had in it. 

“Then I remember how they called for me. They 
knew I must have had the matches. I remember how 
my father threatened what he was going to do, when 
he laid hands on me. I got more scared, and went 
further into the woods until my arms and feet got 
scratched with the bushes, and I fell in the tangles of 
the vine. I didn't want to go back home. I knew the 
home had gone—and I could see nothing but the pun- 


The Leper 


133 


ishment awaiting me. I felt like a little outcast in 
that lonely place — and I longed to get back to my 
father—if only I could believe he would forgive me for 
all the mischief I had done. I lay down on the leaves 
and cried my heart out—sobbing and sobbing till I fell 
asleep. 

“I was awakened in the early morning by great 
strong arms lifting me gently. They were my father’s 
arms. I thought the rain was falling on my face— 
but it was my father’s tears. 

“He and my mother had sought and called for me 
all night—but failed to find me—and by the morning 
they were sure that I was burnt up in the hut. 

“He carried me gently not to wake me—and then 
he laid me in my mother’s arms. I had been a bad 
boy, but he forgot it—he forgot everything in the 
great joy of finding me. 

“Then how they bathed my little scratched body 
—and how my mother kissed my little blistered feet 
—and took off her only wrap to cover me—because I 
shivered and seemed cold. 

“My little sister ran into the woods to bring me 
fruit—and put a lei of flowers around my neck. We 
had no home, for I had burnt it—but my father set 
to work to build it up again—and we slept out under¬ 
neath the trees, and no one ever said a word to me 
about it. 

“0, that’s the kind of God I’d like to find. We’ve 
all burnt huts down in our lives—and everyone of us 
have played with fire—we’ve all been bad and dis¬ 
obedient—but I’m looking for a God who understands. 
Seems like our mistakes to Him must be like mine 
were to my father. I want a God who’s older than 
we are—and knows we haven’t wisdom. My father 
had the eyes to see I did not mean what I had done. 
Why, if we’d got the light—there isn’t one of us would 
sin. We’re just a lot of little children—and most of 
us don’t know any better. 


134 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“If I had known, to play with fire would burn my 
father’s house down—make him lose all he had—al¬ 
though it wasn’t much—and make my mother cry— 
would I have done it? No—of course I wouldn’t. We 
sin because we’ve only got a glimpse of light. We 
don’t see in the way our parents see—and it seems 
to me, in the eyes of the big God, we’re just such little 
children as we are in our father’s eyes. So if this 
God you speak of is like what you say, He couldn’t 
have it in for me, because I wasn’t all I ought to be. 
It was a new life I met in the city—and I played with 
it like moths do with a light. They don’t know that 
sometime they will singe their wings. The disobedient 
boy that goes out on the surf-board deserves to bump 
his nose—but you can’t say he deserves to drown. I 
want a God who takes you in His arms just like my 
father did. I want a God who cares.” 

“He does care,” answered Arthur, “not a spar¬ 
row falls to the ground without He cares.” 

Akana had picked up many a fallen bird and 
healed its broken wing. The words appealed to him 
—but still he was not satisfied. 

“Then if He cares,” he said, “He surely cannot 
want to keep me here. Here in this hiding place away 
from all. He cannot wish to see me sick.” 

“He sent His Christ to heal the sick,” said Arthur. 

“Are you quite sure He did?” 

“Yes—I believe it.” 

A sob rose in the leper’s throat. 

“And does this Christ still live?” 

“He is alive forever, I believe.” 

“Then will you send Him to me here?” 

Arthur was silent again. At last he said: “I’ll 
try to.” 

The soft singing of the girl sounded in the dis¬ 
tance. She was swimming through the luminous water 
—holding with one hand above her head a bunch of 


The Leper 


135 


wild bananas, and a leaf of thimble berries she had 
gathered. 

She slipped her dress on quickly over her bathing 
suit—shook the wet drops from her abundant hair— 
and joined them in the cave. Her face was triumphant 
with the joy of an accepted promise. 

Arthur and she went on their way together—and 
the young man continued to sit on the rock, wrapped 
in thought. 

Suddenly he slipped down quietly upon the floor, 
and with his face buried in his arms, he fell asleep. 


























CHAPTER XVI. 


Resurrection 

I T was not the moon’s rays that awoke him. The 
light that had transformed the cave was brighter 
than the sunrise. Moon, sun and stars seemed 
melted into one. 

Whose were the arms that lifted him so strongly? 
Whose were the tears of love and pity falling on his 
face? Who stood beside him, bringing light into his 
darkness? Who was it wept with him, who cared be¬ 
cause he suffered? He did not seek to know. The 
beauty of that all-enfolding love was far too great for 
question. He rested in its healing strength, like when 
a little child he rested on his father’s heart. 

He lifted his arms, as through the brightness of 
the light he met the eyes of infinite compassion looking 
into his. 

Was it the face that he had seen upon the screen? 
Only the outward semblance — the vision needed to 
make real to human eyes the power of the Christ which 
always lived—the great, strong Brother—the Al¬ 
mighty Father, all expressed in one. 

With limbs suddenly crippled, he tried to touch 
that shining garment—so far away and yet so near. 
He fought for freedom from the bondage of the un¬ 
seen chains. His soul broke out in one appealing cry: 

“0, Christ—light of the God of Love—do not leave 
me—cleanse me— cleanse me now.” 

The walls of the cave vanished into rings of bril¬ 
liant flame. In answer to his cry a thousand messen¬ 
gers of love winged their way downward to the earth. 


138 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


circling their robes of light around him—lifting him 
on a battery of power. 

Earth faded into nothing, as upwards on that 
flame he rose. 

Did this mean death? No—from the voices of 
a million worlds the answer came. “There is no 
death.” He saw his tainted body falling from him— 
falling like ashes from a fire. 

A cry of utter helplessness broke from his lips. 
“God—God of Love—for all my sins, forgive me now. 
Cleanse me—and make me clean.” 

Once more those strong embracing arms. Once 
more the face of pity looking on him through the flame. 
Once more the cave—but never more the bondage. 

With hands stretched forth, he touched the shin¬ 
ing garment. Mirrored within the purifying fires, he 
saw himself a perfect man. The power which broke 
the seals of Jesus’ tomb had set him free. 

Jjt :]« 

Arthur had returned to his cottage, but not to 
rest. He was amazed that he was not weary. He sat 
by the open window in the fast waning starlight. His 
mind was too active for sleep. A great responsibility 
had been thrown upon him. He had been called to 
prove the statements of the religion he professed. He 
had always been sincere in his belief. He had at¬ 
tended his home church when he was able, and with 
a painfully sick body had sat opposite the beautiful 
stained glass window, with his eyes fixed on the pic¬ 
ture of the healing of the sick. Looking on this, he 
had confessed with the congregation to his belief in 
God the Father Almighty—but had he ever stopped 
to think what that Almighty meant? 

If he believed in God Almighty then God Almighty 
was not a God of limitation, and with Him all things 
were possible. 

He found himself softly repeating, “Whatsoever 
ye shall ask in my name-” and then again—” What - 



Resurrection 


139 


soever .” He held the word in front of him and thought 
of its possibilities. 

Whatsoever - 

He bowed his head on his hands and prayed. 

“0, Christ divine, and infinitely tender, like a 
little child I come to Thee—knowing so little of Thy 
great love. Believing in the sickness and the sor¬ 
rows of the world, and never even stretching forth my 
hand to touch the healing of Thy garment. In Thy 
compassion which made Thee choose the glories unre¬ 
vealed, and give Thy life in selfless service—pity my 
weakness and my lack, and as not one was turned away 
who asked—receive me now into Thy Kingdom. 

“Give me of Thy great love which conquers all 
things. Thy strength to tread the path. Give me of 
Thy divine compassion which burns out self in love 
of service. And if it should be that I am wanted here 
—grant me my healing, that by my life and light I 
may show other souls the way to Thee. Amen.” 

He lifted his head with a sense of peace and joy 
stealing into his heart like the voice of God in silent 
answer. The first call of the dawn came through the 
evaporating darkness. It showed the faces of the pink 
hibiscus peeping through the window. 

He walked to the door and drew in long breaths 
of the reviving air. Nature was rubbing her sleepy 
eyes in response to the awakening voices. A sky lark 
suddenly soared upwards, bursting into a rapturous 
song of praise. His soul seemed lifted with it. Un¬ 
consciously he reached out his arms to embrace the 
whole world. 

And in this great universe God needed every unit 
that He had created. 

The joy of it came to him with a mighty thrill—• 

God needed him . 



« 







CHAPTER XVII. 


Akana Tells of His Healing 

D own by the beach, Lilinoe watched the dawn. 
She was not praying—she had asked—she knew 
the answer now was given. Her eyes were full 
of that sweet love which must have been in the eyes 
of the One who said: “Father, I thank Thee—Thou 
hast heard Me.” 

Her expression did not change from its calm se¬ 
renity when Ewaliko came rushing towards her. His 
eyes were wild with terror. He caught her hands in 
his, and pointed to the distance. 

“They are coming,” he cried. “They are coming 
—the men from over the sea. The men with uniforms 
and bright buttons—and stars. They are coming to 
take Akana—I know it. I saw them in my dreams. 
Let us go quickly and get him out of the cave.” 

She smiled gently in response and drew him down 
by her side. Her quietness calmed him. 

“Nothing can harm Akana,” she answered. “If 
these men came, what would it matter? Akana is 
safe. He is enfolded in such a love as he has never 
known. A love I have found. A love which will al¬ 
ways be there to take care of him.” 

He looked at her in perplexity, and then said, 
sadly: 

“He came, then—the one I said was coming to 
claim you.” 

“Yes, Ewaliko, he came,” she replied, “and I am 
going with him, it matters not where.” 

He forgot the errand on which he had come. He 
picked up his fallen instrument and walked slowly 


142 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


away — his head drooping low — like the head of a 
flower struck by the sharpness of an icy wind. 

She did not detain him—did not move from where 
she was sitting. The men who had just arrived by 
the boat came towards her. They were followed by 
a crowd of natives, attracted by their uniforms and 
the strangeness of their errand. 

“They are seeking your brother, Akana,” cried 
one of the boys. “They say he is hidden here on the 
Island.” 

She arose and went forward to meet them. For 
a moment they stood without speaking—almost dumb¬ 
founded by her unusual beauty. It was not the sen¬ 
suous attraction of the great, wonderful eyes, the 
dusky skin, and the flowing black hair garlanded with 
the wreath of scarlet flowers—but it was the great 
illumination which they could not understand, the 
power of the Spiritual forces which she still held. 

“You want my brother?” she asked. “He is here. 
I will bring him to you.” 

The natives who had declared that Akana had 
gone years ago, and never returned, threw up their 
hands and gazed at her in amazement. 

She was walking away, but she suddenly stopped 
and looked with a smile across the blue waters. The 
sight she saw there was very familiar, but it was a 
sight she had missed for so many sad years. The 
sight of a man rising out of the waters, mounting his 
surf-board and steering his course over the waves with 
the same natural ease that a clever machinist would 
steer his car over mountain and dale. 

Strong—grand and beautiful, he stepped on the 
shore—his brown skin sparkling with water—his face 
glowing with healthy exercise. 

He reached his powerful arms out to his people 
—and a great cry of joy went up from all. 


Akana Tells of His Healing 


143 


“It is Akana. Akana come back to us from over 
the sea.” 

The men from the coast were losing patience at 
this long delay. 

“Bring us the leper,” they cried. “Where have 
you him hidden?” 

Akana laughed in their faces, and held out his 
hands. 

“I am the man you want,” he replied. “If I have 
leprosy, take me to the Island—shut me up there— 
but wherever I am you cannot put bondage upon me. 
I am ready to go with you anywhere.” 

The men looked baffled. 

“You are not the one we seek,” they cried. “We 
seek the leper. By wireless we have received infor¬ 
mation that his sister has hidden him here.” 

Lilinoe was standing beside him. The likeness be¬ 
tween them was too strong to deny the relationship. 

“It is Akana,” the natives declared. “The boy 
who left us for the city long, long ago, and we waited 
and wept and longed for his return. We knew his 
father and mother—and he is no leper.” 

The young man smiled at his sister. 

“I will go back with them to prove I am the one 
they are seeking,” he said. “I will tell them the won¬ 
derful story that all may be cleansed.” i 

He strolled away by the side of the officers, talk¬ 
ing interestingly to them, pointing out the historic 
spots on the Island where he had been raised—enter¬ 
ing bit by bit into the details of his life. 

“No wonder you were in hiding,” said one of the 
men. “Such a jealous accusation —you a leper, indeed. 
A man without a blemish upon him, strong as a lion 
—with the healthiest of skin.” 

“I was a leper,” he replied, “but now I am 
cleansed.” 

The officers smiled. 


144 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“Men don't get cleansed so easily, I fear," he said. 
“A great wrong has been done you." 

“It was no wrong—it was a blessing in disguise," 
Akana answered. 

“A blessing in disguise—to have some jealous fel¬ 
low brand you with a curse like leprosy!" cried the 
officer. “Why, man, if you were not so sensible to 
look at I'd think you were a little off your head." 

“If you knew all, you would not think so," said 
Akana. “If you knew how I cursed my fate in the 
beginning and cried to every god for help, and for 
deliverance. Branded as a leper! Driven into a cave 
to die. I, who had been free as the winds and waves 
and morning sunshine! 

“My sister helped me all she could—bringing the 
healing herbs and flowers by night. She gathered me 
fruit and brought the freshest water from the spring. 
She tried the healing of our fathers—but I did not seem 
to get the help. Yet I believed in all those healings 
—I had seen results so many times. Above all things, 
I knew this world was full of power. A power the old 
Kahunas understood—a power which, when gathered 
and sent out like a rushing wind, was able to destroy 
or to uplift. I had watched it in the storms—in the 
force of the waves—and in the destructive hurricane 
—and I had thought so many times, if we could tap 
that power, there would be nothing impossible for us 
to do. 

“Well, the man from the coast came to the cave, 
and told me how this power, rightly used, could heal 
the sick, and even raise the dead. 

“I saw just how it could be possible, for I have 
felt it bubbling through me like new life when I was 
riding on my surf-board. It struck me then, that if 
our bodies made connection with it—it would be like 
the new sap rushing through a tree—reviving us from 
day to day, filling us with that vital energy which 
knows no death—which makes life everlasting. 


Akana Tells of His Healing 


145 


“He told me all this power belonged to one great 
God—a God of Love—who gave it for our use—and 
he told me of the man who came to show us all the 
great things that it could do. 

“And that was how I got my healing. I called 
the power of that great God. I called the God of Love 
—and it seemed as if He lifted me on wings of wind, 
and the sickness of my body dropped away like tin- 
dered leaves from the bark of a tree.” 

The officers stood looking at him. He talked so 
rapidly. His face was glowing—and his eyes inspired. 
They were carried away by the wonder of his words. 

“You are a marvelous specimen of a cleansed 
leper," said one of them at last. “If all could get their 
healing rapidly as that, we should not need a lepers' 
isle." 

“They could get it just as rapidly," he answered. 
“If they once touched the power I touched, they could 
not be unclean." 







CHAPTER XVIII. 


Into All the World 

W hen the calm and beautiful evening had come, 
Arthur found Lilinoe seated on her favorite 
rock beside the sea. 

The sun was setting, and across the golden carpet 
of the Heavens, fragments of broken, purple clouds 
were scattered like bunches of fragrant violets thrown 
hy angels' hands. 

Arthur had been thinking out the problem of his 
life. He realized like he had never done, that he had 
a future—a future which must be dedicated to service. 

The command had been, “Go forth to all the 
world." The promise was, “And I will give you 
power." 

Could he set forth on this alone? Go like the 
“silent seventy," dependent not even on scrip nor 
purse? The world looked very cold and very big. He 
gazed across the island he had learnt to love. It was 
so warm, so full of heart—a little patch of Heaven 
here. Could he leave this for lands he did not know? 
Out of the golden sunset looked the face that he had 
seen in dreams before he came—the face of Lilinoe, 
sweet, lovable and tender. 

He thought of all that she had been to him. He 
went back to the night when they first met, and saw 
her guiding him across the rocks towards his home. 
Prophetic picture of the future! Had not her strong 
hands guided him right to the center of his healing, 
leading him through the darkness of his sickness to 
the Christ which made him whole? 


148 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


What mattered nationality? She was woven into 
his life with a golden thread that no hands could un¬ 
ravel. 

He told her so, when they sat on the beach. This 
love making was new to him, but it was very earnest. 

“It was your face I saw when the world was very 
dark to me,” he said. “You smiled like a star through 
the blackness of the night—a star of promise. It was 
your unseen influence that drew me here. God sent 
you to me, Lilinoe, when I was, oh, so helpless. My 
star of light—I had to follow you to find the Christ.” 

Her tears were falling as she laid her hand on his. 

“I cry for joy,” she said. “It is so beautiful to 
think you love me—for nothing that we love can ever 
leave us. That was the teaching of the old Kahuna. 
I used to dread the time when you would go away. I 
need not dread it any more—for if you love me, we 
can never part.” 

“I have not much in a financial way,” he continued. 
“I’ve paid my money out in doctors’ bills—but I have 
still a little income—enough for us to travel in His 
service. Shall we set forth together—Lilinoe—you 
and I?” 

She looked at him with happy eyes and smiling 

lips. 

“And you would take me with you, Arthur?” she 
said, gently. “Then you must love me very much, for 
I am not of your people. I have not your fair skin. I 
do not know your pretty ways. I cannot talk like you 
do—I can only love.” 

“But that is all we need,” he said. “If we can 
love, we have solved every problem. If we can love 
the world, then we can save it. My fault has been 
that I have never loved. I thought I loved my God— 
but if I love my God I must love all things—must see 
in all that spark of light which is a part of Him. 
Must see the beautiful in every atom of His divine 


Into All the World 


149 


creation. That means love to God, Lilinoe. You know 
that love, and I am learning it from you.” 

“But if I had you with me always,” she replied, 
“I might forget to work for Him. The human love 
is very sweet. You know the nature of our people— 
just live and love from day to day. It would be very 
easy for us both to live in that sweet sunshine—to live 
up on the mountain with the sky and flowers — but 
there are other souls that want what we can give, and 
we must go to tell them of that love which cannot see 
them sick nor sad. The love which healed my brother. 
The love which made you well. The love which will 
take care of me when you have gone away.” 

“But we could do all this together, Lilinoe,” he 
said. “I have no one in the world but you. Why should 
I care for race and color?” 

“No one but Lilinoe?” she asked. “But what about 
the One whose love has made you well?” 

“I know,” he answered, gently. “We are so hu¬ 
man, though.” 

“But if you reach to Him, I will be there,” she 
said. “Wherever He is, I shall be. My work is for 
the Islands. I do not know your people. My mother 
was not happy in your land—and if you took me there, 
and they did not receive me—it would only hurt you, 
many times.” 

“My people!” he responded. “Where are they, 
Lilinoe? God knows I have no people. Surely the 
words, 'my people/ implies those who are nearest to 
our hearts. I have some scattered relatives, but their 
interest does not lie with me—and as for what the 
world calls friends , I never found them anywhere out¬ 
side my pocketbook. 

“Then they need you very much,” she answered. 
“Maybe they need the love you did not give them. If 
you go back to love your land—to love your people 
—then of course they will love you—and if they love 
you—you can help them. 


150 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


“Arthur, I want to go with you. I want to go. 
Only you know what it would mean. But if you go 
with Him, you cannot be alone.” 

He looked at her in sheer amazement. She talked 
like one would talk of an old and trusted friend. She 
who had only learnt to know Him. 

Could he go forth without her? Through the still¬ 
ness the voice came like a strong command: “Leave 
all that thou hast—and follow Me,” 

He lifted his eyes to the sky now bright with stars 
scattered like golden shells in a sea of blue. 

The world was very big and mighty, but yet those 
same stars smiled on every country. The same God 
watching over all. 

“All that thou hast,” he found himself repeating. 
It seemed a hard command—but it gave the wings of 

freedom to the soul, in place of nets of bondage. 

❖ * * * * 

When Yee Kui brought in the supper tray that 
night, he paused and looked at Arthur. 

Between these two there was a beautiful under¬ 
standing—although they talked little. 

“The master has found what he came here for?” 
he asked. 

“Yes, Yee Kui,” Arthur responded. “I have found 
it. I came here sick and miserable. I came here seek¬ 
ing health alone—and getting more and more sick in 
the search. I was sick because I did not know God. 
I was seeking His gifts, but closing my eyes to His 
love. It was love that I needed. Love that healeth all 
our diseases. I thought I had found the Kingdom of 
Heaven, but I had yet to learn it was here in our midst 
—and all these things that I had been seeking should 
be added when I had found it. 

“What I have gained myself I must share with 
others. The work is so big—the fields so wide—and 
the command is—“Go ye into all the world,” 


Into All the World 


151 


Yee Kui listened quietly—sucking his pipe. A 
far-away look was in his psychic eyes. 

As Arthur watched him he realized how invalu¬ 
able his service had been—how invaluable it might still 
be on the great trip he had ahead. If he had only faith 
enough in the supply unfailing he would have taken 
him along—but he was still young—so very young in 
the practical belief, although so old in the study. 

He told him this—and the little Chinaman re¬ 
moved his pipe from his toothless mouth, and his smile 
made his yellow wrinkled face look beautiful. 

“Where the master goes—I go, too,” he said. 

He went into his room as he spoke and brought 
out a bag which contained the savings of years—and 
a bank book. 

“The master need me. I no need money. I go 
along. I help the master.” 

Then God had indeed provided for him—and here 
was the little Chinaman teaching him the great lesson 
in unfailing supply. 

“But those are your savings, Yee Kui,” he said. 
“What will you do when those have gone?” 

“When those have gone!” he repeated. 

“When those have gone—then the good Lord send 
me more.” 

0, beautiful lesson in faith. It entered his heart 
and soul. 

“Yes, the good Lord will send you more, Yee Kui,” 
he answered. 

“Pressed down and running over shall be your 
share.” 

He walked away while he spoke. His heart was 
too full to say more. The words of gentle reproof 
seemed whispered in his soul. 

“Wherefore didst thou doubt?” 









CHAPTER XIX. 


Until We Meet Again 

A kana had returned. He was freed from all claim 
of leprosy, and radiant, bright and beautiful, he 
stood upon the shore, holding the people spell¬ 
bound by his story. 

They sat upon the sand, upon the rocks, they stood 
in their canoes and listened breathless while he talked. 

The blue sky melting into waters of deepest blue, 
the fronded palms, the fishers with their nets, the 
boats, the shore, how like the background that outlined 
the Teacher of two thousand years ago. 

Beside her brother, Lilinoe was standing. She 
looked beautiful as she listened to his strong and sym¬ 
pathetic voice which held the audience by its tender¬ 
ness and love. Joy was mingled with sadness in Ar¬ 
thur’s heart as he gazed upon her. He tried to shut 
out by thoughts of service a sudden sense of his own 
loneliness. 

At a little distance from the others, Ewaliko stood. 
His face was triumphant, and suddenly he pulled Lili¬ 
noe aside and eagerly began to talk. 

“Lilinoe, I have seen Him,” he whispered. “I have 
seen the One who has come to take you. Last night 
when I sat on the mountain He came to me. He 
reached out His shining hands, and the moon dropped 
all its light around Him and the stars fell over His 
head like a crown of gold. He is so beautiful I am 
willing that you should go with Him, for now I can 
never feel lonely, for wherever I look I can see His 
face. He comes into my music, and I shall play like 
I have never played before. He is going to take me 


154 


The Healing of The Hawaiian 


up to heights that I have never trodden, where I can 
listen to songs of birds with mighty wings and sweet¬ 
est voices—where I can look on flowers that live and 
give their scent forever—where there are no storms 
nor shipwrecks, and I shall never be afraid again. 

“We are both going with Him, Lilinoe, but you go 
by a different bridge—all different ways, but all with 
Him. All meeting at the Rest House in the end.” 

He walked away while he was speaking, and be¬ 
gan to ascend the mountain by another path from that 
which he hitherto had taken. The people turned, at¬ 
tracted by his music. Akana paused in speaking, and 
all in silence watched the ascending figure. Higher 
and higher he went, the notes of his music floating 
downward sweet as the scent of flowers upon the wind. 

A silence still deeper fell over the watchers. The 
boy looked back a moment. His old fear of the heights 
had seized him. It was cold, so cold, the heavy 
mist surrounded him like snow banks—the landscape 
—all he loved below, had vanished. There was no way 
back, no calling to his people. He stood alone in the 
thick mist, no flower visible, no light, no song of bird. 
A wail of appeal went upwards from his soul. It was 
answered almost before it had found utterance—an¬ 
swered by the striking of a chord upon his fallen in¬ 
strument—a chord so sweet so full of music, that like 
a sympathetic understanding voice it broke all sense 
of loneliness. 

The seeming snow banks melted round him — 
melted and took light, airy forms of shining white¬ 
ness. Far down below the watchers saw the clouds 
burst into one great brilliant flame. The Hawaiians 
seized each other’s hands and fell upon their knees. 

“He comes,” they cried. “He comes, the One you 
told us of. He comes upon the heights!” 

But the vision vanished quickly as it came. Only 
the few most spiritual had seen the face that Ewaliko 
saw. 



Until We Meet Again 


155 


The music that they heard was not played on 
earth’s crude instruments, but instruments too fine for 
the human hands. Yet the listeners found themselves 
joining in that plaintive sound of greeting and fare¬ 
well : 


“Aloha oe, Aloha oe, 

Eke onaona no ika liko, 

A fond embrace, a hoi ae au, 

Until we meet again.” 

“But when?” asked Iao, sadly, as he looked at 
Lilinoe. “When shall we meet again? It seems as if 
the parting of the ways has come for everyone of us.” 

“The voice is calling us where we are needed, 
Iao,” she replied. “It is the road of service, but as 
Ewaliko said, it leads us all to the same Rest House in 
the end.” 

She closed her eyes in silence for a moment. Then 
in a sudden flash a picture rose before her, which 
made her face alive with joy. A picture maybe in the 
distant years—she was not given time. It gave her 
voice conviction as she answered: 

“Yes, we shall all meet again. On this same 
ground we shall all meet. Beneath these sunny skies 
we shall embrace in our ‘Aloha.’ We shall all meet, 
for I have seen it—God’s love is very great.” 


THE END. 







































































































































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